A Dark and Deadly Valley
by Capt40
Summary: Sequel to Fighting the Good Fight. Willow, Tara, and Giles return to Hogwarts for Year Six as Voldemort’s plan for revenge begins to unfold and Spike begins his quest for Buffy’s love.
1. Where Are They Now?

Title: A Dark and Deadly Valley

Author: Capt40

Email: dgise@yahoo.com

Summary: An HP/BTVS Crossover and the sequel to **_Fighting the Good Fight_**. The story resumes weeks before Harry and company enter Year Six; Voldemort, defiant but not defeated, seeks his terrible revenge on the Scoobies and their Hogwarts allies even as his armies mass for war. While Willow, Giles, and Tara return to Hogwarts to help Dumbledore marshal his own forces, Buffy and the shorthanded Scoobies unknowingly face an evil that none of them, not even Buffy, can possibly stop before it destroys them all. The only man who can? He's abandoned every cause but his own, a quixotic quest to earn a Slayer's love …

Author's Warning: If you haven't read _FTGF, stop. Go back to the BTVS Crossovers page at fanfiction.net. Read _FTGF_. You'll be lost here if you don't, and it'll spoil all the surprises._

Rating: PG-13, but it's an 80's PG-13, meaning swearing, violence, and a few sexual references. If you watch Buffy, you're okay.

Reviews: Much appreciated, as long as they're honest. They're what keeps me going.

Distribution: If you've got a home for it, e-mail me and we'll talk.

Disclaimer: Not that this will save my hide at all, but I don't own any of this BTVS or HP stuff. I am merely borrowing. Thanks to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling for not suing me, as well as creating these great worlds. Also, obviously, any Star Wars references do not belong to me in any way, shape or form, and are in fact the property of George Lucas (I assume).

***********************************

"[O]ur people, our Empire, and indeed the whole English-speaking world are passing through a dark and deadly valley."

                             - Sir Winston Churchill to the House of Commons, January 22, 1941

***********************************

          "Are you ready?"

          "Are you?"

          "We could have brought the girls if you're so nervous."

          "Are you insane? You know what it's like in there."

          "You didn't have to come. I've been through worse alone and survived."

          "Hey, you need a wingman, I respect that. You're sure this is the place, though? Even an experienced demon hunter like myself … well, it kinda gives me the wig."

          "It's the only place they'll have it. And according to my source, they've got exactly one, which means we have to hurry or we'll never get it. I would've thought you'd be used to places like this. That you'd be, you know, at one with its people." He smirked at his companion; he actually enjoyed throwing himself into this sort of fray, on the rare occasions when he had no other choice.

          "Oh, I am. Used to them, that is. Not that I go all the time or anything. Definitely not." He paused nervously, remembering the last time he had done this. "Didja, y'know, bring your lightsaber? 'Cause it's kind of like the United Nations of weirdness in there, all the way down to the traditional garb."

          "It's not ready yet. Sorry. I guess you'll just have to protect me." He laughed grimly, earning a black look. "Now can we go, Xander? If we're late, Willow'll be pissed at us. Again."

          "Last weekend was so not our fault. How often do you get delayed by a fight with rabid midgets? Besides, this is just the Bronze. She isn't hand-cooking dinner for us this time." Grey glared at him from behind his black Oakleys. "Okay, okay, let's go. But Grey?"

          "Yeah?"

          "Watch my back, huh? I'd hate to have to face Willow and Buffy and explain who hurt me."

          "They aren't really at a Star Trek thingy, are they? Could they be dorkier?"

          "Aw, c'mon Buffy. I think it's cute. Besides, it's also a comics convention, and Grey said he only goes when he needs something he can't get anywhere else. If you're gonna pick on my boyfriend, I'm getting a mocha," Willow huffed indignantly.

          "It's okay, Will," Buffy said, amused at her friend's reaction, "I was only kidding. You know I think he's a good guy, and his dork rating is below the critical line. He's only been here slaying with us for what, two months? And I haven't objected, have I? It's not like we hired Jonathan and whatsisname, Tucker's brother, after all."

          "Sorry, your soothing words have no effect on my veneer of indignant rage. I'm mocha-bound." She pushed her tea away and moved towards the Espresso Bar's cashier.

          "Oh, no you're not. Don't think you can guilt me into letting you get one. I'm not going to the Bronze with the Pogo Queen tonight."

          "Can you believe he said that?" Willow said with a giggle, dropping her defensive posture and returning to her seat. Grey had been more than a little stunned by Willow's reaction to most of the beverages at the Espresso Pump. During one particularly egregious babblefest, he had grabbed her shoulders and held her in the seat for ten straight minutes to keep her from bouncing around. 

          "What is this? Does she always bounce like this? She's like the frickin' Pogo Queen."

          Buffy's voice brought her back to the present.

          "He is a little with the goofy, though, huh?"

          "What? Oh, yeah, goofy. Totally goofy. Not at all like he was before."

          "But you're cool with that, right?" Buffy asked, suddenly concerned. The change in Grey over the summer had been really noticeable, even to someone as preoccupied as her.

          "Definitely. He was nice the other way, too, but now …" Her lips turned up in a huge grin. "I like him a lot. He still makes my stomach all swirly."

          Buffy smiled. Seeing her friend happy felt so great. "I'm glad, Will; swirly stomach feelings are key to any relationship." She paused, considering that statement. "Okay, maybe not actual swirly feelings. That would just be gross. But really, Will, it's great. You deserve somebody whose only worldly thought is you."

          Willow caught the note of despair in the last sentence and put her hand lightly on Buffy's arm.

          "He'll come back, Buffy. I know you miss him, but he'll be back and you'll work things out and it'll be dandy."

          "Dandy?"

          "Mmm hmm," Willow answered with a nod. "Dandy."

          "I hope so," Buffy said morosely. "I just wish I knew where he was. That I'd get a letter or something. Just so I knew everything was okay."

          The wind howled and the clouds bellowed as mighty thunder shook the earth. The rain came down in a rush, stinging like wasps where it impacted on his bare skin. The cuts on his face, some still raggedly open despite vampiric healing, burned like acid where the water rolled in.

          At his feet, the demon lay haphazardly in the sandy entrance to the cave, its head dangling unnaturally from its lifeless corpse.

          "Eyes aren't glowing now, are they, ya bastard?" Spike muttered as he tried in vain to light a soggy cigarette. "Legend my arse. Fuckin' cockroach trainer in the soddin' circus."

          He gave up and tossed the fag away, then caught sight of a dead roach clinging to his boot. With a sharp kick he flicked the lifeless body off, watching as it bounced along the soggy African sand.

          "Bloody hell," he whispered, finally accepting what he knew he should have done at the beginning. "Peaches, here I come."

          "Are you planning on staying longer this time?"

          "Was that sarcasm from the King of Brood?"

          Angel leaned back against the doorframe and clasped his hands together.

          "Actually, no. Just wondering if you had some sort of plan."

          "Oh." She dropped her usual sneer. For a second, she looked every bit the frightened, confused kid that she was finally getting the chance to be. Then the haughtiness returned to her face. "I dunno. Looking to get rid of me so quick?"

          "No," he said honestly. "Stay as long as you like. We've got plenty of room."

          She nodded. "Um … Angel?"

          "Yeah, Faith?"

          "Y'know … thanks," she said, shrugging and looking away.

          "You're welcome."

          "Any luck?" Xander looked down at the row of Flash books in plastic sleeves. Grey answered without looking up.

          "Not yet … hold on …" He flipped through another six inches and lifted one half out of the box. "Bingo."

          "And it was really that hard to find?"

          "Don't know why," Grey replied, lifting the book all the way out and looking over its condition. "Just seemed like I could never find it in London. It bugged me, you know? Got under my skin."

          "I hear you. I remember one time Buffy and I fought this horde of … well, never mind. Let's just say I know what it feels like when something digs into you."

          Grey's left eyebrow went up. Xander shrugged.

          "How much time before we have to meet the girls?"

          "Couple hours."

"Want to look around?"

          They turned and Xander scanned the crowd. Sure, there were more than a few people at the Star Trek end in serious Borg garb speaking in an oddly unitary way, but most of the rest seemed to be normal. He was actually enjoying himself, and there were a few issues he needed to browse for. 

          "Sure. Why not? I mean what could … keep us …" _Was that … holy shit._ "Grey, you see that blonde girl?" Xander, not wanting to point and draw attention to himself, settled for an awkward half-nod.

          "By your seizure-like attempt at non-chalance, I'm thinking ex-girlfriend?"

          "Oh, hell no. The thing is, her name's ..."

          The blonde in question suddenly leaped atop a signing table and started shouting.

          "Hey! Geeks! Losers! Listen up! That's right, look at me, you freaks!" Heads turned, focusing on the owner of the shrieking voice. Vampiric ridges sprouted on her oval face and her eyes turned yellow.  "Pay attention. Good. Okay, boys, dinner is served."

          " … Harmony," Xander finished, "and she's a vampire."

          "Well, at least she's got friends."

          The dark-haired man followed Grey's spinning gaze. A half-dozen vampires were sprinkled throughout the crowd, growling at the packed buffet crowding around them.

          "Shoulda brought the girls," Xander said ruefully.

          "Wish the girls were here," Ron said dejectedly.

          "So Hermione's off on her trip, huh?"

          "Yeah. Left yesterday." Ron kicked a small stone across the garden.

          "We'll see her in ten days, Ron. It's not that long."

          "Easy for you to say."

          Harry cocked his head questioningly. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

          "Sorry. I'm just grumpy about her. We yelled at each other a little last time. Both on edge. I don't wanna really talk about it."

          "Well, at least you got to see her every week or two. I didn't see Ginny for two months."

          "Speakin' of, where is she? You two've been stuck to each other for days." 

The hint of bitterness in Ron's voice made Harry instantly wary. He felt badly that Ron felt neglected, and he had tried to make time for him. But he was so happy to finally see Ginny … and so amazed that the Dursleys had let him go (more out of their desire to see him depart without damaging the house than any noble impulse, he was certain), that he had trouble staying away from her.

          "She and your mum went to pick up some things for the house. Don't know what."

          "Oh."

          "You alright, Ron?"

          "Yeah, I'm fine."

          "You sure?" Harry hadn't realized that he and Ginny had grated on his friend so much.

          "I'm fine. Really. Just, I don't know, restless, I guess. S'not you an' Ginny, if that's what you're thinking. But now that Fred and George are gone … whatever. I'm just whinin'. You up for some flying?"

          "Definitely," Harry said with a smile on his face. Summering with the Dursleys had meant way too much time out of the air.

          "I don't like this, Albus. Not at all. That place sounds extremely dangerous."

          Arthur Weasley's face was scrunched up in a scowl. He shifted his body around, trying to get comfortable in the stiff, high-backed chairs of the Ministry conference room. His wand kept digging into his hip.

          "I know, Arthur, but the boys are very capable. I'm sure you know that."

          "We can do it, dad," Fred chimed in.

          "You can count on us. We won't let her down," George said to the room's other occupant.

          Arthur glanced at Professor Giles, who had a troubled look on his face as well. "This … this Hellmouth. I can't believe it's safe," he repeated.

          "I won't lie to you," Giles said, "it is certainly not a stroll in the spring rain. Particularly if the boys do what we ask of them, they'll be under fire, if you'll excuse the bad pun, fairly often. The only thing I can say is that Buffy is extraordinarily talented. She is perhaps the most-accomplished Slayer in the history of the Watcher's Council, as well as the longest-lived. I trained her and her compatriots myself. She will do her best to keep them alive."

          "The boys … I love them, but are you sure …" He let it hang, not wanting to insult his sons.

          "They're quite capable of handling this," Dumbledore said, his gaze roaming over Fred and George. "When sufficiently motivated, as you know, they are quite talented. When sufficiently motivated."

          "We know what's at stake here, Professor," Fred said, his voice grim and his eyes deadly serious. "I'm not too keen on bloodsucking fiends an' demons from Hell's fourth circle or whatever conquering the world."

          "Plus, it'll give us a test market for our knick-knacks," George added half-jokingly. His brother shot him a look, and he straightened up.

          "Yes, about that," Giles broke in, "you'll have to be careful. My assistant, Anya, is very … particular about how she runs the shop. She will be your supervisor, and I expect you two not to give her much difficulty."

          "We'll behave, Professor," they chorused.

          "See that you do."

          Arthur pondered the question as he looked his twin sons over. They would go regardless of what he said, but his approval was important to them. He just didn't know if he could give it in good conscience. 

          George saw the look on his father's face and understood what he was wrestling with. "See, dad, it's like this: if we go, we're able to do what we want, which is sell our stuff, and do something useful at the same time. We don't have the cash to hang out our own shingle. We just don't. An' I know you don't want us to, and that you don't want us in danger…"

          "…but we're in danger anyway," Fred continued. "You Know Who is on the loose, and everybody knows you stand with Professor Dumbledore. We're targets, whether we're there or here. At least this way we're doin' what we like and freein' some other people up to help stop him."

          "Buffy really does need the assistance," Giles added. "We learned that last year, and she says that activity around the Hellmouth is increasingly markedly. With Willow and Tara both at Hogwarts, she lacks a trained magic-user on her side. If not Fred and George … well, frankly, I don't know what we'll do."

          The gravity of the situation had already sunk in. Arthur knew what he had to say. He just hated putting his boys in so much danger.

          "Very well. Let's head home and tell your mother. I'm sure she'll be pleased," he added, knowing that Molly would have more than a few reddening words to toss in his face.

          "Okay, hon. Honest opinion." Jess offered an abbreviated pirouette, her short black skirt fanning out around her as the light from Tara's fireplace caught the gold highlights. "Is it me?"

          "Very you," Tara answered. "I like the gold sparkles. A-and mine?"

          "Splendid," Jess said with a nod, even though the outfit was a little … good witch for her. She liked Tara a lot, but the girl's fashion sense was odd. Long, flowing skirts weren't really her taste. _Ah, well, if it makes her happy, _Jess thought. "Now s'long as you don't take Willow away from Grey and I don't take Grey away from Willow with these fabulous outfits, we'll be just fine."

          Tara giggled. She and the Irish girl had grown close enough over the summer that Jess felt more than at ease making those kinds of jokes, and Tara was glad for it. The magic lessons had been hard for them both, Tara because she never seemed to push herself hard enough and Jess because she often pushed too hard. Together, they had managed to find a comfortable speed and a comfortable friend, both sorely needed.

          "It should be f-fun," Tara said. "I haven't been to the Bronze in awhile, not since before Hogwarts."

          "Yeah, definitely." Jess' voice trailed off and her face darkened.

          "Still nervous?"

          "Is it that obvious?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Sure and you must think I'm a right bastard, then, for giving him up but not letting him go."

          "N-no, n-not at all, Jess. It must be hard, seeing them together." Willow and Grey had come to visit Hogwarts on several occasions over the summer. Tara had watched Jess nearly come apart after each one, though while the couple had been on campus, she had given no sign of her turmoil, and Tara figured that they had no idea.

          "That it is," she answered honestly. "I mean, they're good about it an' all. Willow especially was workin' real hard at it, but … god, I miss him."

          "It will get better if you give it time," Tara said for the hundredth time, wondering as always if it really would. She had admitted to Jess that seeing Willow with Grey started the pangs in her own stomach. The news had been less than comforting.

          "I hope so. I really do." The girl's face brightened suddenly, another of the abrupt mood shifts that Tara could never track. She contented herself with simply going along with them until she could understand them better. "Let's go dance. Then I'll feel right as rain, as my ma used to say."

          "S-sounds good. B-besides, they won't start the fun without us."

          "So you've got a stake, right?"

          "Oh, uh," Xander looked again at each of the unmasked vamps in turn, "I'm not exactly armed to the teeth. Which is to say, I have teeth and arms. Little short on weaponry, though."

          Grey slid a stake from a wrist sheath Buffy had given him. "Here. Take this one."

          "You have another?" Xander gripped the stained wood with white knuckles.

          "Don't worry. I've got my rapier wit."

          "You should take Harmony, then. She's only got about half that. Less, if it's a day that ends in 'y'."

          Before Grey could form a suitable response, the vamps started grabbing people and screaming erupted in the packed crowds. With the narrow aisles and flood of terrified humanity, the prospects of escape were pretty dim.

          "Come on," he shouted to Xander over the sudden din, "up, up, and away!" He jumped onto a table, kicking the comic books out of his way as he raced for the nearest vampire. Dressed in the latest in mall fashion, it looked a few years older than Grey and had its mouth clamped onto the neck of a pale blonde girl. With a flying leap, Grey tackled them both to the floor.

          Xander went the other direction, charging for Harmony, who, he figured sadly, was what passed for a leader among this bunch of undead idiots. One of them saw his stake and moved to block his path. With a surly growl, it loosed a slow right hook that Xander easily slipped. He slapped his elbow into its face, and then rammed his knee into the crotch of the vampire's jeans. The demon howled in pain and barely noticed when Xander plunged his stake through the center of its letter jacket.

          Grey and the vampire both came up swinging, but the preppy ex-high schooler wasn't much of a match for a trained auror. In seconds Grey left him twitching on the floor, bones from his broken neck having sliced neatly through his spinal chord. The remaining four vampires paused; clearly, the crowd of geeks wasn't cooperating like Harmony had said they would. All of them looked to her for help.

She was too busy struggling with Xander to notice. When he had closed within ten feet, she recognized him.

          "Xander Harris, is that you?"

          "Yep. And Buffy's over there," he gestured vaguely to the other side of the room, "so you better take your skanky, unicorn-loving ass out of here before she makes me vacuum you up."

          "Ooh, listen to the tough guy." She hopped down from the table and charged. "I'm gonna kick your hair-pulling butt all over this room before the stupid Slayer even knows I'm here."

          "You stood on a table! Of course she knows …" Harmony cut him off with a nasty hip check, knocking him to the ground and driving the wind from his lungs. As she leaned in for the bite, he reached back and grabbed her ponytail. With a hard yank, her head popped up and he slammed his forehead into her nose.

          "Oo bashtersh," she yelled, rolling away from him. Blood ran down from her nose onto her pink shirt. "Thishtop wash Gap! I gesshu, Xander Harrish." She turned and ran for the door, leaving a stunned Xander staring after her.

          Three of her minions followed suit, abandoning their early dinner and fleeing the convention at top speed. One of them saw Xander lying there and moved in for the kill.

          "You hurt the mistress," it said. The vampire, a burly type in a plaid shirt and jeans, loomed over Xander, who held the stake defensively above his chest. "I'll eat you for that."

          "Come on, can't we work this out, man to demon? I mean, heh heh, you let me live, I leave quietly and don't get my friend the Slayer?" 

The vampire let out a guttural growl. Xander sat up and started to shimmy backwards, but it followed, ready to pounce. Expecting to feel sharp fangs rip into his neck, Xander heard a loud thwack instead. The vampire's eyes went wide; it toppled over, the stake moved up, and suddenly Xander was coughing from the dust. Grey stood over him, smirking.

          "I suppose now you'll want to go shower before we meet the girls, huh?"


	2. If You Feel Like Dancin'

          "My lord, you know that I would never question you…"

          Red eyes burned in the gloomy shadows. "But you have a question for me, Wormtail?"

          "I-I do. It is just … this ritual … the danger is great, and …"

          "And you don't feel the reward will be, is that it?"

          Pettigrew answered with a tiny shake of the head, all the while staring at his feet. An ominous chuckle burbled from Voldemort's unsmiling mouth.

          "Do not worry, Wormtail. As you shall see, this would be worth twice the risk. I have trafficked with his kind before. Do you know what they suffer most from?"

          "No, master."

          His mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. "Boredom. They have an eternity in that place, and nothing to do. So when offered a challenge, they certainly extract a price, but they do it for the enjoyment more than anything else."

          "B-but the price …" Pettigrew gestured with his silver hand to the five Death Eaters slowly bleeding to death on the lawn. Each had been staked to the ground and carved from the soles of their feet to the joints of the shoulder with ritual symbols. Their eyes had been removed and their voices magically dampened to prevent any untoward screaming.

          "They went willingly. For the greater good, of course. And they are not the price I speak of." The irony brought a small grin from Pettigrew's frightened features. "You would do well to worry less, Wormtail. Undue stress is unhealthy for a man of your bulk. Come now, let's go. Our guest will be here any moment."

          The two of them, ominous in their dark robes, walked slowly forward across the front lawn of Voldemort's castle. Fifteen Death Eaters chanted at the points of a pentagram drawn in the blood of their sacrificed companions. The oily vapor of dark magic had settled heavily over the gathering, and Voldemort knew it wouldn't be long.

          Even as he thought it, a shape began to form over the center of the star. For several agonizing minutes a smoky blot wavered in and out of existence, finally resolving itself into the rough shape of a man. Thirty seconds later, Voldemort strode into the circle and greeted it.

          "Hello, my friend. Good of you to come." Pettigrew noticed that his master's tones were as silky and pleasing as he had ever heard. This creature must have power.

          "Yes, it has been a good long while, hasn't it?" The voice came from the center of the smoke, its sound as immaterial as its body. "Our prior bargain has not expired for you, as of yet. Why have you called me?"

          "I have something to offer in addition, something I think you might enjoy." Their voices dropped as the conversation continued, and Pettigrew could hear no more. Awed, he watched with the rest of the Death Eaters as Voldemort bargained as an equal with their guest. How this bargain fit into Voldemort's plans for revenge on Potter, Dumbledore, and their group, he had no idea. But it certainly did; "the biggest guns for the hardest target," Voldemort had told him in the midst of his research. Research that in the end, Pettigrew knew, had brought him to one of the demons that had aided his quest for immortality.

After several minutes, a pleased expression crossed Voldemort's face and he bowed his head in a half-nod. The man-shaped smoke did the same. Voldemort then stepped back and deliberately rubbed a hole in the marked pentagram.

          Pettigrew couldn't tell for sure, but he swore he felt the smoke man smile as it stepped beyond the binding area and vanished.

          "That went well," Voldemort said, striding back to take his place. "Now, Wormtail, you must come with me. We need to finish the preparations for the arrival of the Zombie Master."

          "But … but my lord," Pettigrew stuttered, "it escaped."

          "Not it, you odious fool, he. And he did not escape. He accepted my bargain, and I let him depart."

          "Wh-what…" Pettigrew trailed off, remembering his place.

          "What did I offer him?" Voldemort chuckled, the sound of tires skidding on gravel. "Why, what everyone wants: the chance to fall in love."

          "They said they were meeting us here, right?" Willow asked Buffy, her voice mildly alarmed.

          "What?" The band, some sort of combination rock/jazz trio that neither of them had ever heard called Make Me Pancakes, wailed away loudly on stage.

          "Xander and Grey," Willow shouted into her ear. "Said they'd be here, right?"

          "Uh huh. Not for twenty more minutes, though."

          Willow nodded, barely hearing her. Off to her right, Tara and Jess finally made it by the bouncer and wended their way to the table.

          "Hey!"

          "Hey Will!" Tara hugged the redhead, then the Slayer. "Hey, Buffy!"

          "Willow, Buffy," Jess said with a nod, smiling at them. Her stomach twisted slightly, as it always did around Willow these days. Jess constantly feared that Willow knew the extent of the torch she still carried for Grey. She hoped not; their visits had been brief. It would be hard to conceal when they moved back to Hogwarts, though. _Damned if you don't have something to hide_, she thought disgustedly, _you selfish bitch_.

          "So do you think we're ready to give it a shot?" Willow asked Jess once they were seated.

          "What? Hold on." Jess' wand came out from her purse. "_Deliquo_," she said, giving an abbreviated swish and flick before stashing it away again. "Sorry, hon. Could you repeat that?"

          Willow could suddenly hear her perfectly, even over the music.

          "Whoa. What'd you do?"

          "Nothin' big. Just so we can hear each other without all the shouting."

          "Cool!" Buffy said. "And now that we have this fun and effective conversation tool, I'm gonna leave and get a drink. You guys want?"

          "Coffee, please," Jess said.

          "Tea for me." Tara looked at Jess and Willow, then stood back up. "I'll help carry. Will? Want anything?"

          "Coke, please." She smiled at Tara, who smiled back, then left with Buffy.

          Willow watched Jess watch Tara walk away, catching a strange look in the girl's eye. "Jess?"

          "Yeah?"

          "Can I … do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

          _Here it comes_, Jess thought, trying to quickly decide how she would lie about Grey. "A'course. What?"

          "You and … are you and Tara … Y'know, is there a you and Tara?"

          "Huh?" Jess blinked in confusion.

          "Sorry! Sorry! None of my business! Just the way you were looking at her I thought, y'know, maybe?" _'Cuz I so wish Tara had someone_, Willow thought to herself, _and that was a more than friendly look_.

          "Oh. Oh! You mean … me an' blondie?" Jess smiled. "Just friends, Willow. Just friends. Honest."

          "Oh, okay. I hope I didn't …"

          "Not offended. Flattered, actually, that you thought Tara might want someone like me." _Guess she isn't suspicious_. Jess breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Yeah, she's pretty great." Willow unconsciously bit her fingernails. "Listen, is she happy these days? I can't really tell in the letters or on the phone."

          "I think so. She's a little, what is it you lot say … wigged, that's it. She's wigged about her magic, but not too bad. She's adjusting to the thought that she's got more power than she used to."

          "Does Professor Dumbledore know anything else about the white-eye thing?"

          "Nope. Giles has been diggin' into it all summer, too, but nothing yet from anyone. Never heard of it before, myself."

          "Uh uh," Willow agreed. "We'll figure it out." She shifted gears. "Anyway, back to what I wanted to say before we made with the sidetrack. Are WE ready?"

          "I think so. Dumbledore agreed with the one you chose. He felt it would be our best shot at success."

          "Did you talk to Grey's parents?"

          "I did. Thought his mom might feed me to the Yorky when she saw me, but she ended up talkin' her husband into it. We're set for two weeks from tonight, at their flat in London."

          "So I have all these thoughts about this, right, but I had one last week that I thought might be a keeper. What if we used Buffy, too?"

          "She doesn't have magic, right?"

          "No. We'd have to … I'd have to draw her piece out of her."

          "That's dangerous. Really dangerous."

          "That's what Will told me," Buffy broke in, trying to put Willow's Coke and her latte on the table and squeeze in to sit at the same time. Slayer reflexes were the only thing that prevented a coffee stain from setting up shop on her light blue sundress. "But it'll make a big difference, right?"

          "Thanks," Willow said, taking the Coke. Jess mulled Willow's suggestion over in silence.

          "Yeah. It could be a big difference. I don't know that anyone's ever used a Slayer as a part of this before."

          "But you could."

          "I think so, Willow. It'll be delicate, though. Are you sure you're up for it?"

          "Up for what? Something naughty?" Xander and Grey came up behind the girls; Xander's hair was still wet from the shower.

          "Oh! Oh! Xander! And-and Grey," Willow said, shaking her head. "N-no. Course not. Just …" Willow didn't want to spoil the surprise, and Grey was right there, so she equivocated. Badly. "Y'know, talking about trying to-to dance. To this band. 'Cuz their, y'know, different … and … stuff."

          Grey gave her a half-smile, half-smirk. "So is that a 'Yes, Grey, ask me to dance now?' or a 'Let me finish my Coke and try get out of telling you what we were really talking about' kind of stuff?"

          The whole table burst out laughing as Willow blushed. "Dancing. Because leaving and … dancing … would be of the good now."

          He held out his hand for hers. "Then shall we?" She took it and they walked to the dance floor together.

          Buffy and Tara both saw the pain written on Jess' face as she watched the retreating couple. Buffy gave Xander a suggestive look and tried to inconspicuously nod at Jess.

          "Buff? Your seizure medication not working? I had the same problem earlier, it was kinda funny actually," Xander began, stopping when Buffy's eyes narrowed.

          Jess shook her head, the amusement breaking her reverie. She mentally cursed herself for being so damn obvious. "Nice subtlety, Buffy." She turned to Xander, making a big show of looking him over. "She wants you to ask me to dance because she thinks I'm upset. I'm fine," she said to Buffy, "but I'd love a dance. How 'bout it?"

          "Uh … okay?" She took his hand and led the bewildered young man out to the dance floor.

          "Is it me," Buffy said when they had gone, "or does that girl move in and out of moods faster than a speeding bullet?

          "Yeah," Tara acknowledged. She watched Xander break out his array of funky moves and Jess start to laugh at him. "I have trouble following it sometimes."

          "Like now?"

          "Like now. She's r-really nice, b-but … Willow and Grey … it's really hard for her."

          "I can understand that. Do you think that she's, y'know, dangerous?"

          Tara shook her head. "She's actually really gentle, e-even though she's really e-emotional, so it may not seem like it. She's on our side," Tara added seriously, "for sure. She's just m-m-more fragile than she wants to admit right now, and it messes with her h-head."

          "You really like her, huh?" Tara's eyes went wide. "Oh god, Tara, I'm sorry, I know it's none of my business."

          "I … uh …"

          "Look, don't say anything that you don't want to. If you want to talk, though, I'm around. I mean, I kind of think of us as friends, and I'd like you to think I was."

          "I-I-I do, B-Buffy." She paused, forcing down her stutter. "Honestly, I d-don't know what I feel for her. Or if it matters. But if I need to talk, I'll c-come to you, okay?"

          Buffy smiled. "I'd like that."

          Out on the dance floor, a slow song came on, its melody a haunting blend of guitar and saxophone, and Jess started to walk away. Xander put a hand on her shoulder.

          "You don't have to go."

          "It's okay, Xander. It was nice of you to dance with me, seein' as how we don't know each other at all. You don't have to do this, too."

          "Are you gonna stare all moony-eyed at Willow and Grey? Because I'm thinking that's not the better option here. Okay, yeah, not the world's greatest dancer…"

          "Which I now know."

          "Which you now know," he agreed, "but is dancing with me worse than that?" She pretended to get lost in thought. "Hey!"

          "Jus' kidding, hon," she said with a smile, turning back and taking his left hand in her right. Her other hand went behind his back, and his wrapped around her as they swayed to the music. "Thanks, though. Didn't realize I was so obvious in my brooding."

          "Well, you sort of are, but it's cool. I understand. Losing something like that is really hard."

          She cocked her head, trying to find an angle that made it easy to talk when they were so close. "Been there?"

          "Yeah. Got all the way to the altar, actually, before it blew up."

          "Whoa. What happened, if ya don't mind my asking?"

          "It's okay. Her side and my side sort of had a fight."

          "Drunken yelling? Had that at my cousin Dora's funeral. Her side had too much whiskey, and the groom's had too much beer and wine. It was ugly."

          "More of a demon-human brawl, actually. Broken chairs, goring horns, that kind of thing." 

Jess laughed before realizing he was serious. "What? Are you bleedin' kidding me?"

          "Yup. They were cleaning Larthos blood out of the carpet for weeks. There were some ugly visions involved, too … it's a long story."

          "But … demons? Why?"

          "My fiancee … well, before she opted for a more human career path, that of a small town shopkeeper, she was involved in the wild world of vengeance wishes. Hence, her friends and family have those special extra-human touches."

          "That's … different."

          "If by different you mean insane, than yes, I believe it qualifies as different. But she's a good person. I always kinda half-hoped we could fix it. That's how good I think she is," he said wistfully. Then he thought he saw … _Oh no. Not gonna help._

          "Well, that's something."

          "I always thought so. And it's a good thing she's out of the vengeance gig." He let go of Jess, staring out towards the entrance.

          "Why's that?" Jess turned to follow his stare.

          "Because she's standing over there, watching us dance, and from the look on her face, I'd say she's not happy about it."


	3. Pleased to Meet You

          With grace born of years of vampire slayage, Xander weaved untouched among the other dancers and reached Anya at the edge of the dance floor. Her face was pinched up in a scowl.

          "An…"

          "You were dancing. With a girl."

          "An, listen …"

          "You told me wanted a relationship with me again. You said those words. I remember. We were in that awful Italian restaurant that you like, and …"

          "An, let me … you don't like Rocco's?"

          "Oh please, Xander. Their spaghetti is always limp and those lumps of cow are clearly not made from government-approved meat products. When I want Italian food, I mean expensive food with candles on the table and … Hey! You were trying to distract me, but I'm not changing the subject so easily, mister. How can you say that and then dance with that tramp!" She was shouting by the end, and other people had begun to notice. Xander threw an arm around her and half-steered, half-dragged her into a darker corner.

          "Anya, listen to me. Her name is Jess. You know Willow's boyfriend? Grey? That's his ex-fiancee."

          "The evil sorceress who tried to slaughter you all while I was vacationing in Miami?"

          "Well, yeah. Kind of. Except she isn't evil anymore."

          "Oh. Are you sure?"

          "Huh? Yes, we're … you're not letting me get to the point. She was getting upset because Willow and Grey were dancing," he looked her straight in the eye and added forcefully, "which is not to be mentioned or discussed at all, okay?" She nodded. "Buffy asked me to dance with her. To cheer her up. It was a Slayer-mandated dance; had I not done it, I would have been bruised."

          "She wants you."

          "What? Buffy doesn't…"

          "Not Buffy. The tra … sorceress."

          "No, she doesn't."

          "She watched you walk all the way over here. I know what that means. She wants to grab your ass with her hands."

          "Uh … no."

          "Xander, I know …"

          "Oy Vey." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Anya, listen. I meant what I said. I want to try things with you again. It doesn't matter who wants to grab my ass, okay?"

          "Okay," she said warily. "But until we figure things out, no one touches any part of your ass in any way unless they do it with my hands."

          "Huh?"

          "That was decent of Xander," Grey whispered to Willow as they watched him walk to Anya. She was pressed intimately against him, both of them enjoying the band's odd sound. "I hope he doesn't get in trouble."

          "Eh, not likely. Mostly Anya's pretty reasonable about that. She trusts him."

          "She's really hurting, Will." He meant Jess. The guilt in his voice practically drowned Willow. "I mean, really hurting."

          "Seems alright to me, but you know her better."

          "Yeah. I do."

          "I thought for a second earlier that she had a thing with Tara."

          "Really?" His nose scrunched questioningly. "Why?"

          "Just a look in her eye."

          "It's possible, I guess. I'd hate to think…"

          "What?"

          "Well, that I, I don't know, put her off guys or something."

          "If we weren't dancing so close, I'd kick you in the shins."

          "Why?"

          "Because that could be the most ignorant thing I've ever heard you say, dummy. It doesn't work that way. It's about people, not their parts. And there's tons to love about Tara."

          "Well, you'd know."

          "Yes, I would, thank you very much." He kissed her lightly. "What was that for?"

          "Indignance is cute. And I agree about Tara, by the way. She's great."

          "Don't think you're off the hook."

          "I know." He smiled and her knees went weak. "But you love me anyway."

          "Yeah, unfortunately."

          "I just want her happy, Will. That's all. I don't care who with."

          "Give her some time, Grey. You can't fix this one."

          Half an hour later, they were all squeezed around the tiny table, caffeinated beverages in hand.

          "So when are you guys off to foggy London town?" Xander asked Willow.

          "Monday, Xand. But we'll visit a lot," she added quickly.

          "I know. But only two more days and it's back to the dreary rhythm of the winter months." His face drooped. "How is it that I'm well into my twenties and my life still moves on a high school schedule? That's really depressing."

          "So you … work with the children?" Anya said to Jess, her voice only slightly negative. She knew that the witch could have designs on Xander, even if he didn't believe it.

          "Me less than the others," Jess said. "I'm strictly rehabbing. Everybody else does, though."

          "Oh, is it alcohol? Because Xander's father …"

          "An. Inside thoughts, remember?"

          "Never mind, I guess," she said, a look of incomprehension on her face. 

Buffy smiled. The old Anya/Xander vibe might have gone into hibernation, but it wasn't dead.

"Nah, not alcohol. I'm there for the black magic program. We get nicer apartments than the drinkers, don't you know."

"Well, that sounds unpleasant."

          "Could be worse," Grey chimed in, hoping to bail Jess out. "At least she has something to do. I don't even have a job anymore."

          "Huh?" Willow looked up, startled. "What happened to your Deputy Head thing?"

          "Turned it over to me," Jess said.

          "Oh, right, on account of how you were once a Gryffindor?"

          "Yeah." 

          "Sounds like a frat," Xander said. "You always know that secret handshake. Or you don't, and you have to stuff your bra and dance …" They were all looking at him. "So … still a part of the society, huh?"

"Uh huh. You don't leave or anythin'. If you stay in England, your house is like a tattoo in the workin' world. I'll be a Gryf pretty much forever."

          "That's kind of cool, in an obsessive sort of way. What are you gonna do?" Willow asked Grey.

          "Same thing as before, I guess. I don't know. Jess just told me this while you guys were getting the second round of coffees. Dumbledore wants to see me when we get there. I guess he's got something special for me."

          "But he still wants you there?" Grey nodded. "Good. 'Cuz I do to." They smiled at one another as the conversation moved on.

          "Hey, Xander," Grey said a little while later, "did you tell Buffy about the fun we had today?"

          "Fun? At the comics thingy?"

          "Yeah," Xander said ruefully, "those comics kids are into all this naughty bondage stuff. Who knew?"

          "Like what?" Anya asked, suddenly losing her bored look.

          "He joked … Actually, thing is, we ran into your nemesis and a vamp raiding party looking to chow down on the geek buffet."

          "Nemesis? Who?" Buffy paused in thought. "Oh no. Not her."

          "Yep."

          "Who?" Willow asked, suddenly frightened. "Faith? 'Cuz I thought, you know, jail?"

          "Not Faith, Will," Xander said, barely restraining laughter, "Harmony."

          "That skanky blonde girl I beat the crap out of in Buffy's living room?"

          "The very one, Anya."

          "You let her in your house?" Grey asked.

          "Not even when she was alive," Buffy answered. "Dawn had a slight mishap a few years ago. She got thoroughly scolded."

          "Aah, I see."

          "It was after that she …" Buffy's voice trailed off as she stared into the distance.

          Thirty seconds passed. 

"Umm, Buff?" Xander asked. "You in there?"

          "Sure. I'll have the salad."

          "That's … great." Six heads swiveled to follow Buffy's gaze. "Something else with your salad? Vampire maybe?"

          "Oh, he better not be," she muttered. She hadn't moved her head an inch.

          "Anybody else creeped out here?" Willow asked. Tara nodded her agreement. 

A blonde man suddenly knifed his way through the crowd, heading straight for the table. Breath caught in every female throat as he came into view. His facial features were sharply defined and nearly perfect; ice blue eyes swept them with a purely sexual gaze. Anya's hand unconsciously fanned her throat at the sight. He wore black dress slacks and a shirt the same shade as his eyes.

          He stepped in front of Buffy and met her stare.

          "Dance with me." It was part request, part command.

          "Hell yes." She slid off the seat and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

          When they had gone, the other three girls exhaled. Xander turned to Willow, "Did you get that Dark Prince … I mean, Dracula vibe there?"

          "Kinda, yeah," she said, concerned. "Something was off."

          "His aura. Definitely off. Did you see?"

          "Sorta," Jess answered Tara. "It wasn't off, though. It was like … like it was too cohesive. Constructed, maybe? Have you ever seen that?"

          "N-no. But you've been doing it longer than me."

          "Not without a wand. Still gettin' used to that. But if I use the wand, he'll glow like a lightning bolt. It's a showstopper."

          "Definitely a b-bad idea."

          "Can the squib make a humble suggestion?" They looked at Grey expectantly. "Hit her with a clarity spell. If he's mind-fucking her, it'll break it. If not, she'll never know."

          "Thank you for that imagery," Xander muttered.

          "It-it'd make a scene, Grey," Tara said. 

          "An' we couldn't really explain me zingin' spells to the crowd, can we?"

Instead of responding verbally, he looked at Jess and raised an eyebrow. She suddenly knew what he wanted to do.

          "Dublin?"

          "Dublin." A smile spread slowly across his face.

          She nodded and stood, pulling her wand from her purse. "Xander?"

          "Yeah, Jess?"

          "Might want to gather all our stuff and start for the door. If this doesn't work, it could be a bit messy." She looked at Tara. "It's no fun if you don't make a scene."

          "What are you gonna do?" Willow asked.

          "What we do. Trust me. If we start a riot, we'll meet you at Buffy's in an hour." Grey leaned over and kissed Willow's forehead. "Love you."

          "Did he say riot?" Xander asked as they moved towards the bar.

          Jess tapped the beer with her wand. "_Appareo_." The beer lightened slightly, but otherwise appeared normal. "You ready?"

          "I'm ready. How's my beer?"

          "Chock full o' clarity," she said with a laugh.

          "Just how I like it." They moved to the dance floor, dancing behind Buffy and her new friend. Grey had his back to her, and Jess was facing him. They danced awkwardly, the beer in her hand and both acting like they were more than a bit tipsy. "Remember last time?"

          "I remember you hittin' that poor bastard with a fryin' pan, an' his wife chasin' you outside with the other one."

          "Could've happened to anyone. Besides, who was the one who missed her throw?"

          "So I throw like a girl. Big deal."

          "Don't miss this time."

          "I won't. Ready?"

          "I am indeed. And Jess?"

          "Yeah?"

          "I miss this."

          "Me too, Grey. Me too." She paused, smiling craftily. "Showtime."

          She shoved him away and started screaming.

          "Don't touch me, you rank bastard! I know what you're about!"

          "What are you talking about?"

          "Don't you be grabbin' my parts without permission! What kind of gentleman does that?"

          Grey leered at her. If it hadn't been an act, she might have been afraid. That look on his normally placid face was ghastly. Some of the other patrons started to notice them shouting.

          "Hey, you're the one who's flashing the goods at me. What am I supposed to do, you fucking tease? Dumb bitches, you're all the same," he said dismissively, grabbing her arm. 

          "Lemme go, ya bastard. I'll fuckin' kill ya if you touch me again!"

          "Come on, baby. Just a taste. You know you want it." He ran his hand up and down her arm. "If you're nice, it'll be fun."

          The people around them were all watching now. Almost all the dancing had ceased, and the band missed a few notes as they saw him grab at her.

          Buffy and the blonde man danced on, and that decided Jess. She tossed the beer full on in Grey's face. His right hand caught most of the splash headed for his eyes, and it came away dripping with the stuff.

          "You stupid whore!" He whipped his right hand back, as if to slap her, and brushed some of the beer across the back of Buffy's neck. He couldn't see it, but her head shot up and she pushed the blonde man away.

          "That's enough of that, buddy," the bouncer said, coming out from the crowd and grabbing him roughly. He could smell the beer stench on Grey, and didn't know it was from the thrown one. "I think it's time for you to go."

          "Who … who are you?" Grey heard Buffy ask; he knew the spell had worked.

          The blonde man smiled, his lips parting like the edges of a dagger, and he spun and left. She reached out to stop him, but somehow couldn't quite move fast enough as he faded into the crowd.

          Grey grumbled as the bouncer led him out. "Didn't do nothin'," he muttered. "You saw her. Fucking tease, rubbing up against me like that."

          "You better go home and sleep it off, buddy."

          "It's alright, Chris," Willow said to the bouncer as she appeared at the entrance to the Bronze with the other three. "He's with us. Just, y'know, a few too many."

          "He's with you?" Chris looked skeptical. He'd been bouncing at the Bronze since Willow and Xander had been sophomores in high school, and knew them well. "You sure?"

          "Uh huh," Willow said. "Friend from work."

          Chris nodded, handing Grey, who still affected a tipsy walk, off to Xander before pulling Willow aside. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. But he's bad news, Willow. Some friendly advice? Drop him. Guys who let the beer get to them that much are never okay for long."

          She suppressed a chuckle. "He's a nice guy, Chris, really. Just gets carried away sometimes. Thanks for looking out, though." The bouncer nodded skeptically and walked back inside. Jess and Buffy met them around the corner five minutes later; Buffy looked shaken.

          "You cool, Buff?"

          She shook her head. "Talk. My house. Now."

          "So what was up with the Saint in there?" They all had seats in Buffy's living room. Dawn had come down when they arrived and planted herself on the stairs, eager to hear about the night's events.

          "Oh please, Xander. He looked nothing like Val Kilmer," Anya said.

          "I dunno, there was some Val there. I saw it, Xand," Willow said with a wink.

          "But back here in the land of important things," said Buffy's impatient and grumpy voice.

          "Sorry, Buffy," Willow said.

          "It's alright, Will. The whole thing just fedexed me a box of the wig." She looked from Grey to Jess. "And what the hell were the two of you doing in there? What was that 'just a taste' crap?"

          "We didn't want to be all obvious, hitting you with a thrall-breaker in a big crowd," Jess explained. "Most muggles don't like wizards when they first see 'em. So I enchanted the beer."

          "And I made her throw it at me, then put some of it on you."

          "Is that what hit my neck?" Buffy crinkled her nose, "Rank beer smell. Blech."

          "What happened in Dublin?" Willow asked.

          "Not important, Will," Grey looked away.

          "Short version?" Jess broke in with glee. "Did the same thing with a truth spell to an informant. Except I missed an' hit the barkeeper's daughter." Grey reddened with embarrassment. "Turns out she has a thing for bald men, an' the truth spell made her a little aggressive. She started pullin' clothes off and … touching things … to entice him, an' her father got a wee bit of upset."

          "I hit him with a frying pan," Grey said sheepishly. Seeing Willow's stunned look, he hurriedly added, "He was going for his shotgun. I didn't have a choice."

          "Then her mother chased him out into the street, and I had to spell the lot of them so that we didn't get in trouble with the muggle police." Xander, Anya and Dawn were quietly chuckling in their seats, but Willow and Tara looked unhappy with the explanation.

          "Was there really thrall happening there?" Buffy asked quietly. She had ignored most of the exchange.

          "I think so, Buffy," Willow said. "We got kind of a weird vibe off of him."

          "His aura looked weird. Artificial, s-somehow," Tara said. "Th-that's why we did the spell."

          "Who was he?"

          "I don't know, Will. He didn't say another word after we started dancing. But I didn't feel threatened or anything. Even with Drac I felt the evil – with this guy I felt … longing. Does that sound weird?" The three magic users shrugged. "Could there have been thrall without a threat? Like, non-aggressive, friendly thrall?"

          "Friendly thrall usually means some kind of love spell, Buffy," Willow said. "That wouldn't be good."

          "This sounds Giles-worthy," Dawn said, her concern obvious. "I mean, he's got all those new books over there. You guys should call him. It's like research 9-1-1. And if this guy pulled a beam-up so quick, he might have known what you did, and he'll probably be back." They all stared at her. "What? Did I grow an extra head?"

          "That makes a lot of sense, Dawnie," Willow said. Everyone else nodded.

          "Hey, I might not be a Hogwarts girl, but I'm not dumb. Go Sunnydale High," she said with a laugh.

          "Was that really the best thing master I don't think it was really the best thing now the Slayer knows your aura she's seen you her friends have seen you they all … ULP!!"

          "Silence," the blonde man said, waving his hand. He watched, amused, as his rambling companion, a two-foot tall, brown furball with a green, curved beak and huge leathery wings, searched in vain for its vanished mouth. "We have discussed this, you twit. I needed to meet the Slayer, or our work could not begin. I have touched her. That told me enough. As for her meeting me," he ran a hand over his chin and the blonde visage vanished into a gray haze, "it doesn't matter. When we truly meet, appearance will carry little weight."


	4. Opportunities and Disappointments

          Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Tara crept out onto the front porch of the Summers home. She found Willow leaning on the rail, nursing a mug of hot chocolate.

          "Hi."

          "Eep!" Willow jumped several inches and barely avoided spilling cocoa all over her white pajama top. "Jeez, Tara, you scared me. When did you get all ninja-like?"

          "S-sorry, Willow. I figured you heard me open the door."

          "Not so much, no. But it's okay."

          "Sorry."

          "Really, it's okay." She looked at Tara's pajama outfit. "So … you're still up."

          "Uh huh. You too."

          "Guess so."

          They drifted into silence, absorbing the rare screamless night in Sunnydale.

          "Will," Tara said finally, "d-do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

          "I'm not covering it up so good, huh?"

          "Actually, I didn't notice anything, 't-til I saw you out here at three in the morning staring into space."

          "Wow, look at me. I'm secret-keeping gal."

          "I bet Grey knows."

          "He's very in-tune with the many moods of Willow, it's true. But I haven't really talked about it with him much, and he doesn't press. It's not a Grey conversation."

          "No?"

          "Nope. Kind of a Tara conversation, actually. If you don't mind?"

          "Willow," Tara gave her the 'duh' look with her sleepy eyes, "of course I d-don't mind. I didn't come down here because I thought you were just getting your chocolate fix. What's wrong, sweetie?"

          "Magic."

          "Magic?"

          "Magic. You know how I went to Hogwarts every week for a lesson." It wasn't a question, but Tara nodded anyway. "And they all went really well. I came back, did the practicing, and that all went really well. I wasn't even thinking about it, it went so well. Kinda like, y'know, right before Glory? When I was really powerful but not dangerous?"

          "Uh huh. But n-now?" Tara asked tentatively.

          "Same. No change. I'm still at that point. But this time it's giving me the big ol' fear whammy right in the stomach."

          "The magic? Or how comfortable you are with it?"

          "The second. 'Cuz last time, whoops, sorry 'bout your limb, Dawnie. Glad you have three more. And … the other stuff," Willow added, not wanting to bring up the memory spell. "I caught myself doing the dumb stuff I did then, y'know? Little things, like conjuring clothes when I was late for something, or changing a one-dollar bill into a five so I could get a cheeseburger. Like before."

          "That's not good, Willow. When did that happen?"

          "I didn't even notice until, like, the middle of July. Probably started a few weeks before, right after we left Hogwarts."

          "Did you talk to Professor Dumbledore about it?" Willow shook her head. She had been too ashamed. "You should have. It's a bad sign."

          "I know it is, Tara. I'm not naïve like I was before. When I figured it out, I stopped doing spells."

          "St-stopped? Doing magic? But you've been going to the lessons."

          "I take the lessons and do the homework as fast as I can. I only do stuff with my wand now, and when the homework is done … I've been giving my wand to Buffy. Just in case."

          Through the nervous twisting in her gut, Tara forced a smile. "That's good, though, Willow. You're dealing with it. You aren't letting it take control of you."

          "And-and-and that's just it! I have. I'm not in control, because when I'm in control I can do whatever I want, because I'm deciding to do it. I'm being decisive Willow. With this I'm out of control Willow who has to give her wand to the Slayer to keep from doing magic. That's the definition of not in control."

          "But you did something about it. You stopped."

          "I can still FEEL it though, Tara. I don't need the wand. I know it. The magic knows it. I keep feeling like there's some creepy old British actor standing behind me saying 'It's only a matter of time.' And I'm so not down with that."

          "O-of course not. But … I'm thinking two things about this, if you want to hear them."

          "I so do," Willow said, nodding.

          "The f-first thing is that you are in control. I mean it. If you want the real definition of out of control, a-ask Jess about her walkthroughs with Dumbledore."

          "Walkthroughs?"

          "Th-they're part of her rehab. It's n-not my place to describe them, but … she's dealing with the stuff she did. That's out of control stuff. I-i-if buying a cheeseburger sets off your alarm, we've still got lots of time, okay?" Willow nodded again. "The second thing is that you should tell Professor Dumbledore. He'll help you, and h-he won't judge you, so you don't need to be worried about being ashamed or anything with him. You know that, right?"

          "I … sort of. Yeah. I do. Just, after all the work we did, it's hard, y'know? To admit that I'm nervous about being black-eyed Willow again?"

          "If you hadn't done the work before, y-you wouldn't be worried about this now, sweetie. That's why you did the work in the first place. The work isn't done because the school year ended."

          Willow thought that over and decided that Dumbledore would understand. He also wouldn't judge her for it; he'd only try and help. "You're right."

          Tara smiled sweetly. "Aren't I usually?"

          "Draco? In my study please," Lucius Malfoy said as he walked by the door to Draco's room. The younger Malfoy rose from his leather chair, put aside his book on Seeker tactics, and started the walk he had learned to dread.

          Nothing good ever happened to Draco in his father's study.

          The room was several doors down the hall from his bedroom; he entered and took his usual place, standing ramrod straight in front of his father's massive oak desk, fear running down his spine like a bead of sweat.

          "You'll be returning to Hogwarts in a few weeks," his father's icy voice said. Lucius' chair faced away from him, allowing Lucius to view the countryside through his enormous picture window while he spoke. "I thought it best that we talk now, before we make the trip to gather your supplies."

          "Yes, father," Draco said, glad his father's voice was calm. He still held out the faint hope that he might escape this conference without a resumption of the routine thrashings he had received earlier in the summer.

          "Your studies with me this summer have gone well," Lucius said, turning his massive leather chair around to face Draco. "Much better, in fact, than I thought they would. It is possible, just possible, boy, that you have a glimmer of the Malfoy potential in you after all."

          Stunned by the praise, Draco didn't reply beyond a stuttered 'thank you.' His father had said nothing all summer, piling dark lesson upon lesson, just as Snape had predicted. This went beyond any of that; he almost sounded as he had the year before, when he spoke of making Draco a Death Eater.

          "This is an important year for our master," Lucius continued. "Despite last year's setbacks, I have managed to restore something of the credibility of the Malfoy name. If I am to return to sit at his right hand, however," Lucius' piercing eyes closed in on Draco, and the boy had to restrain himself from stepping back, "I will need to present him with a greater gift than any other."

          "I expect your assistance."

          "Assistance, father?"

          "Yes." Lucius Malfoy's lips curled up in a jackal's sneer. "If you assist me well, the rewards will be great." Menace burned in his ice blue eyes. "If you fail, the penalties will be equally great."

          "What can I do?" Draco asked, careful to phrase his response as if helping Voldemort would be the most natural thing in the world for him.

          "When the time comes, I will tell you specifically, but for now rest assured: you will have the satisfaction of the crushing victory over Harry Potter and his nitwit friends that I know you desire."

          Draco flashed his most evil smile.

          "I won't fail you, father."

          Neville was waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when Ron, Harry, and Ginny arrived with Molly Weasley.

          "Hello, Neville dear. How are you?"

          "Fine, Mrs. Weasley. And yourself?"

          "I'm well, thank you." She gave him a sweet, motherly smile. He exchanged greetings with Harry and Ron, then flashed Ron a concerned look.

          "Say, Ron, mind if I speak to you in private? Just for a bit."

          Confused, Ron allowed himself to be led aside, where Neville began whispering and gesturing heatedly.

          "What d'you think that's about?" Harry said to Ginny, squeezing her hand.

          "Dunno." Ginny looked around. "Wasn't Hermione meeting Neville early? Maybe she's not here an' that's got him worried."

          Suddenly Ron's face broke into a pained expression. He nodded, asked Neville a question, then took off into the pub once he had the answer.

          "What's happening?" Harry asked Neville when the boy came back over.

          "It's Hermione," Neville said somberly. "She's locked herself in her room and won't come out."

          Ron could hear her crying through the door. He tapped tentatively on the battered wood, then knocked louder when he got no response.

          "Go 'way," Hermione's voice was thick with weeping.

          "'Mione? It's me, Ron," he called. "Please let me in." He heard shuffling, followed by the clack-clack of a chain banging into the doorframe.

          Then the flimsy door flew aside and a sobbing Hermione threw herself into his arms.

          He held her in the doorway for a few minutes, making cooing noises and letting her cry herself out. His left arm draped across her shoulders and his right hand rubbed small circles across her back.

          When she seemed a bit calmer, he hefted her into his arms and deposited her on the bed. Then he went back and shut the door.

          "Feelin' better?"

          "A bit," she mumbled.

          "Want to talk about it? Neville said you were in Flourish an' Blotts an' all of a sudden you were cryin' and made him walk you back here."

          "I don't know. It'll sound so silly if I say it out loud."

          "Made you upset," he said tenderly. "That makes it not silly to me."

          "Ronald Weasley, are you trying to be sensitive?" She gave him a tiny smile, lighting up her tear-stained face.

          He grinned. "Maybe a little. I'm not a complete dunce, y'know."

          "I know." She reached out for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

          "And really, how bad could it be? I mean, s'not like you didn't make Prefect or something."

          Hermione blanched, and Ron thought he saw her turn green. "Go 'way," she cried, her tears quickly restarting.

          "You didn't make Prefect?" Ron bellowed. "Are you kiddin' me? Bloody fucking hell!" Then he remembered that she was crying, and sat down on the bed next to her. "Aw 'Mione, come here." He wrapped his arms around her again. "That's not silly at all. You should be damn pissed off."

          "I kept thinking, 'oh, they must not have sent the letters yet,'" she said after her sobbing slowed. "Especially because of how all the slots were open after last year's class graduated? I figured they had to take their time and pick them all out. But then … we went to Flourish and Blotts and there was Dean Thomas, wearing a badge."

          "Dean bleedin' Thomas? Are you kiddin' me?" He repeated. "You'd be a way better Prefect than Dean Thomas!"

          "Well, I know that, Ron," she said with more than a hint of anger. Then her voice drooped, "but I guess Dumbledore and McGonagall don't think so."

          "But they think you're great!"

          "I guess not," she said, looking away.

          A huge lump formed in Ron's throat. She looked so hurt, worse than he had ever seen. It didn't make sense. Dumbledore and McGonagall thought the world of her. McGonagall had even given her the Time Turner, which required her to tell the Ministry that Hermione was fantastic AND responsible. That was a lot bigger deal than being a Prefect, at least to Ron's way of thinking. He almost said that to Hermione, but realized it wouldn't help. He satisfied himself with hugging her closer and kissing her temple. That would do, for now.

          When they got to Hogwarts tomorrow, he and Harry would have a few words for Professor McGonagall.


	5. Risky Moves

          Rain in Los Angeles is like rain nowhere else. It waits, dammed up in the clouds for months on end, until it can erupt in a deluge of Biblical portions. The power of the storms is often too fierce to last more than a few hours or a day.

          Spike arrived on the third day of driving rain, the stormy weather mirroring his mood as torrents of heavy rain slammed into the pavement. Soaked to the bone, his feet cold inside his black leather boots and rivulets of water running down over the back of his duster, he felt as miserable as he could ever remember.

          Standing on the front stoop of Angel's headquarters about to beg for help wasn't improving the experience.

          Spike reluctantly banged the enormous brass knocker onto the wooden door, listening to it echo through the hotel as he puffed on his cigarette. No one rushed immediately to the greet him.

          "Soddin' poof. Who lives in a haunted house, anyway," he muttered to himself. Rain dripped down his neck. He banged the knocker again. "Open the bloody door, dammit!"

          The door swung open. Cordelia stood in the entry, her crossbow trained on Spike.

          "What do you want?"

          "Get in out of the rain, perhaps? Come on, cheerleader, invite us in, will ya?"

          "Sure. Then maybe you can take off your coat, relax, and RUN US ALL THROUGH WITH HOT POKERS!"

          "Uh … not in the plans, luv. Least not before dinner, anyway."

          Cordelia glared at him. "If you try anything…"

          "You know I won't, so stop acting all threatening an' BLOODY INVITE ME IN! It's wet as hell out here."

          She suddenly smiled an evil, conspiratorial smile. "I guess it's alright. I mean, we have a Slayer here to protect us if we need it."

          Spike dropped his cigarette.

          "Th-the Slayer's here?"

          "Uh huh. Come in and say hi." She gestured him in with the crossbow.

          Spike's head spun frantically. He couldn't face Buffy. Not now. He wasn't ready, and he couldn't explain why he left anyway; doing that would jeopardize the whole thing. He couldn't run, either; doing that would screw this up just as much.

          "You were whining and whining. Are you coming in or what?"

          He stepped through the door and out of the rain, nervously looking around for Buffy. He heard a low whistling, then felt a rush of air as a stake stuck in the wall next to his head.

          "Looking for B? Sorry, Billy Idol. She's not here at the moment, but if you'd like to leave a message," Faith hopped down from her seat on the registration desk and spread her hands, "feel free."

          "You're the other Slayer," Spike said, ignoring the stake next to his head and lighting another cigarette. Relief flooded through him. "The one who had to do a spell in the state pen 'cos she wasn't as good as Buffy, right?"

          Faith's pale face curled into a sneer. "At least I don't get led around by an electronic leash."

          "Don't bait him, Faith. He's not worth it." Angel said, emerging from the hallway and looking Spike over carefully. When he got to the eyes, he fixed his gaze in place. "Get out."

          "Now, Peaches, that isn't nice. The cheerleader just invited me in." 

Cordy poked him in the back with the crossbow bolt. "Don't stay on my account."

          "'Ey! Watch the coat!" He met Angel's gaze with hard blue eyes. "You think I like bein' here? I like it about as much you do." He looked away, unable to say it to Angel's face. "I came 'cos I need help from ya."

          "What kind of help?"

          "With Buffy," he mumbled.

          "What was that? I thought you said…"

          "I need help with Buffy, dammit!"

          Angel growled deep in his throat. "Why would you come here?"

          "Got nowhere else."

          "So you thought what? I'd give you some inside tips on how to get in her pants?"

          "Like I'd need those tips from you. Ponce. No. I just …" Spike paused, unsure how to avoid coming out and saying it. _Bloody hell. Fuck it._ "She won't love me …"

          "That's a wicked surprise," Faith said with a raised eyebrow.

          "Of course not," Angel said, ignoring her. "Buffy's…"

          "…Until I have a soul," Spike finished. The others gawked. "Tryin' to find one's been … ah, forget it. Stupid idea, comin' here. I'll do it without you lot." He turned and started for the door.

          Angel's voice stopped him.

          "Spike?" The younger vampire looked back. "You're serious?" 

Even before he said it, Angel knew the answer. Somewhere deep in his own soul, he knew that Buffy did love Spike. He had known it since the spring. And he, of all people, knew what that could drive a man to do.

          "As a heart attack."

          Angel had never wanted anything more than Buffy's happiness.

          "Stay."

          "Huh?"

          "Stay. I want her to be happy. For that, I'd … Fuck," he swore. He had loved Buffy enough to die for her, had loved her enough to leave her and risk destroying himself. But did he love her enough to help her be with Spike? 

          Of course he did.

"For her. I'll help you for her."

          "Wow, this is so how I pictured it," Willow said, looking around the front hall of Grey's parents' flat. "Very Victorian."

          "Yeah. My mom likes that period. She reads all those muggle romances. You know which ones I mean? They sell them at the grocer's counter?"

          "She does not."

          "I swear. She's got hundreds of them."

          "Yikes. Is that where you get your thing for books?"

          Grey smiled at her, then led her by the hand into his living room. They were early; his parents hadn't come home from the Ministry yet, and Jess had claimed she had something to take care of before she got here. Tara was with her, leaving Willow and Grey alone for a few minutes.

          "Hey Grey?" Willow perched herself on the edge of a green, wood-framed couch. "Can I ask you something? I'm kinda curious."

          "Do I get to ask something in return? Is it like Truth or Dare?" He waggled his eyebrows.

          She shook her head in disgust. "Mind in the gutter much? Not something like that."

          "Oh." He pouted.

          "Stop it. Plenty of time for that later. No, what I wanted to know is, how come you don't have an English accent?"

          "Ya'd prefer if I talked like that bloody poof William, then, pet?" His mock Spike-voice was terrible, but she laughed. "Or yeh'd prefer Hagrid, maybe? Somethin' ter compare it ta?"

          "Oh God, that's awful! Stop! Please!" She was laughing so hard that her stomach tightened painfully, her face blushed crimson, and she nearly toppled off the couch. Her breaths came in great heaving gasps, but when she could finally talk again, she said, "I'm serious. You've got no accent at all. How?"

          "I told you I lived with my aunt a lot, right? That's pretty much how.."

          "In Boston?"

          "Uh huh. I lived with her during the week and saw my parents on weekends. Floo traveling made it pretty easy."

          "But why? You said it was because of their jobs, right?"

          "Does it matter?"

          His sudden defensiveness surprised her. His shoulders and neck tensed up in a way she had never seen. "Um… I guess not. I was just curious, you know, about you. You don't talk about your aunt ever, or being in Boston or anything. But-but you don't have to. It's okay."

          Grey blew out a breath, forcing himself to relax. "I'm sorry, Will. Can we just … say it's a sore subject and let it go?"

          "Your aunt?"

          "My aunt. Boston. It's … she died. I don't like to talk about it much."

          He had a sudden flash, like a hidden glimmer of a memory: standing on the empty Boston streets, Jess at his side, his grandfather facing them. And something nearby. A presence. The flash disappeared as Willow's soft hand caressed his arm.

          "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go and make you all upset."

          "It's okay. I'm sorry I snapped." He pulled her into a hug. "So do I still get a turn? Even though I snapped?"

          "Turn?"

          "For a question?"

          "Oh. Okay. Sure."

          "Did you talk to Dumbledore about your magic yet?

          Her head tilted up, eyes wide with shock. "You knew I was going to?"

          "I figured you'd decide he needed to know about the problem eventually. Did you?"

          "Yeah. Last night, after we all met to talk about Harry and his friends."

          "And?"

          "He said a lot of stuff, most of it sounding like 'don't worry, we'll make it all better.' But I am worried. It happened so easily. I didn't even notice."

          "You did notice; you noticed long before it got too bad."

          "You're not nervous?"

          "About you? No way." His arms went around her waist. "You're going to train with him, right?"

          "Dumbledore? Yeah. Lots of stuff about focus and control and when magic use is appropriate. Like last year."

          He kissed her softly on the mouth, then trailed brief kisses along her jaw until his lips were next to her ear. She giggled as the touches tickled her lightly. "You'll be fine, Will. You needed help. You got help. With all of that new power you got last year, I'm not surprised things are getting messy." He kissed his way back down to her mouth. "We'll work it out."

          Willow was very lost in the feeling of his lips on hers when she heard something in the background. Grey pulled away, and Willow saw Jess, Tara, Buffy, and his parents over his shoulder.

          "Oh! Um… hi?"

          "Hi yourself," Jess said, her smirk effectively hiding the painful lump in her throat.

          "Perhaps we should come back after dinner?" Sir Robert Grey asked, tongue-in-cheek. Both Willow and Grey blushed.

          The atmosphere was not what Willow had expected at all. She joined Jess and Tara in laying out the spell ingredients; Grey's mom, whose name was Elizabeth, puttered in and out of the kitchen, setting out snacks and cookies for everyone. Grey, his father, and Buffy watched with amusement.

          "Let me get this straight: aurors are like wizard cops, right?"

          "Yeah," Grey said. "More like F.B.I., but the same basic deal."

          "And your mom is a really good one?"

          "The best," Robert Grey said.

          "And she's putting out cookies and tea and wearing a little apron?" A vertical frown line appeared on Buffy's forehead.

          Grey shrugged. "She likes it. It makes her feel all motherly."

          "It doesn't happen terribly often," Robert said, "but she bakes superb sweets."

          "But if she cooks you anything else," Grey said in a stage whisper, "definitely politely decline."

          "I heard that," his mother called from the kitchen. The three of them laughed.

          "Well, I think it's nice," Willow said from the floor, where she was aligning candles.

          "Not that I'm complaining," Grey assured her. "So, Buffy …"

          "Uh huh?"

          "You're here."

          "Uh huh."

          "Not that I mind, but why?"

          Buffy looked at Willow and Jess, who looked at each other and nodded. Then they looked at Buffy and nodded.

          "They want me to be part of the spell," she said simply.

          "What? What spell?"

          "Making the lightsaber." Buffy looked confused. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

          "Whoa, wait a minute. You're doing that how, exactly? As far as I know, Buffy has no magic," he said to Willow. "She can't help."

          "I'm … doing her piece. It's kind of a surprise. We picked a slightly different spell for the forging than the one I showed you."

          "You did." He looked disturbed; he had selected the simplest one in order to minimize the risk.

          "Yup."

          "It's more powerful," Robert said. "Our hope is that this one will be able to block the _Avada Kedavra spell."_

          "I'm guessing it's more dangerous, too."

          "Relax, hon," Jess said. "We've got all kinds of power here, and a vampire slayer. What could go wrong?"

          Everyone turned and stared at her.

          "What?"


	6. Pieces of You

          "So explain to me what's going to happen here, exactly," Grey said to the group when the ingredients were prepared. They were all seated in a circle in his parents' living room; the furniture had been pushed to walls. In the center lay a dark blue pillow, tiny and square, surrounded by candles.

          "Well," Willow stretched the word out, wanting to hedge but not knowing how. He was going to throw a fit. "See, there are different ways to make the blade. The one you and I chose originally was easy, like your grandfather's. We would bind some magical energy to the handle, weave some defensive spells into it, and it would be just like your old one."

          "But that's not what you're doing here."

          "It is. Sort of," she said, looking around for help.

          "The o-other way," Tara said, "is to … b-b-build a living blade."

          "Living?" Grey was liking the sound of this less and less. Nobody answered his question.

          "We'll tell him later," Elizabeth Grey said from the couch. She turned to her son and spoke in what Grey thought of as her 'auror' voice. "We're doing it; we think it's the best way, and there's a great deal at stake here. You have no choice in the matter."

          "Yikes," Buffy whispered.

          "Does that mean you won't explain?"

          "You'll see," Jess said. "Are we ready?" Each head nodded in turn. "Give it to me." She held her hand out; Grey's father passed her a baton. Grey only caught a quick glimpse of silver and blue before she pulled it back. "Let's begin."

          She snapped her fingers, and every light in the house went suddenly dark.

          In the pitch blackness, Grey recognized Tara's soft voice chanting a low, droning chorus. The words seemed to blend together as power began to gather. Willow started chanting next, her higher voice distinct against Tara's lower one. His father joined in soon after, then Jess and his mother. When each of the voices had the same rhythm, a small white light appeared above the center.

          The handle of his new lightsaber lay on the blue pillow. He had never seen it before tonight; one of his father's oldest friends made his living fashioning magical objects, and in the new light Grey could see that the blade was his handiwork. Like his grandfather's, the metal parts had been forged from steel, but this one had veins of blue running through the handle itself. Whether they were glass or stone, he couldn't tell.

          The silver light grew slowly, losing its form to fuzzy indistinction as it settled in a ring just below their chins. Every face around the circle lit up ghost-like in the thick darkness. He and Buffy were the only ones not chanting, and the only ones looking around. All other eyes focused on his father, who watched the blade intently.

          Streaks of blue light shot from the handle, forming patterns on the walls that whirled and spun; the flat glittered like a London dance club. Robert Grey pointed at Tara, who stopped chanting and picked up her wand. Grey could not hear the incantation, but Tara's eyes turned white and her hand trembled as she swished and flicked.

          Then she went out of focus.

          That was the only way Grey would ever be able to describe it. For a split-second, there seemed to be several images of Tara badly superimposed on one another. When they vanished, a tiny tendril of brilliant white shot from her wand into the lightsaber.

          Once it disappeared, she resumed chanting, and Willow stopped. They went around the room, each touching the blade with a tendril of magic as they blurred. His father went last; when he completed his portion, he looked at Willow and raised an eyebrow. She ceased chanting once again, this time taking Buffy's hand in her own.

          "Ready, Buff?" Grey heard Willow whisper. "You can back out…"

          "I trust you, Will. Just carve me carefully – I don't want him to end up with a drumstick or something."

          Willow smiled, placing her wand in the hand that was holding Buffy's. Once she finished arranging their fingers, they were effectively each holding the wand and each other's hand. Willow's incantations were inaudible, but Buffy gasped loudly as the magic emerged. 

Ten seconds later, the chanting ended, the white light disappeared, and the room was again plunged into darkness.

          Grey's father cast an illumination spell, revealing the group once again. Except for Grey, they all looked to have gone days without sleep.

          "Ooh, that was fun," Buffy moaned.

"Grey," Willow rasped. Her voice sounded as if it had been dragged over stone. "Don't break this one, okay?"

          "Are you guys alright?"

          "Drained," Tara said, leaning over and running her fingers through her blonde hair.

          "Last call's comin' early tonight," Jess groaned.

          "Buffy, are you…"

          "I'm okay, Grey. That magic just felt way, way funky."

          "Try it," Willow implored him. "See if we did it."

          Grey moved to the center of the circle, dropping to one knee and inspecting the hilt of his new lightsaber. The blue swirls were cool to the touch as he ran his fingers through the grooves.

          "Sapphire," his father said. "Besides the color, it holds magical energy extremely well. Albus suggested it."

          "Sapphire? This must have cost…"

          "Don't worry about it." Through the fatigue, his father grinned. "Willow's right. Try it."

          The entire room watched in a frozen tableau as he grasped it in his right hand, pointed it straight up, and ignited the blade.

          _Snap-Hiss_. 

The room glowed faintly blue.

          He knelt there for a long time, feeling the magic and the power in the sword as it filtered into him. It thrummed, but not with the long, low bass note of his grandfather's lightsaber. This blade vibrated with the sound of human voices. He could feel them in his body as they spoke, the emotions passing over him in waves, other people's memories springing full-blown into his mind.

          He was totally unprepared when the visions hit.

          _The lights were out. All of them. Moonlight crept in through the parted curtains, molding a soft edge onto the odd silence. The dorm should have been less quiet, should have been rowdy and raucous and bacchanalian, in fact. But it wasn't. It was deathly quiet._

_          As if his pain had silenced them all._

_He felt the fear deep down in his soul. Fear of her. Fear of her leaving. He nearly drowned as it washed over him; if she went, he would he would have to stay, drowning. Dying. _

_Some part of him, a part he had never felt before, something foreign, welled up inside him. It would not drown, even when he did. It would survive. It would endure. _

_He would endure._

_          Someone knocked softly at the door. He rose from the chair and reached out for it, his hand soft and pale. Unfamiliar. Painted nails closed around the doorknob, and he opened it; Willow stood in the hallway, the candle in her hand setting her red hair ablaze._

_          "No candles? Well," she said, her voice tentative, "I brought one. It's extra flamey."_

_          She glided into the room. He backed away, shoulders hunched, and took the candle. This would be pure pain, but he would endure._

_          "Tara," she said, her voice tentative, "I have to tell you…"_

_          "N-no," he stuttered out, Tara's voice emerging from his lips, "I understand. You have to be with the person that you l-love."_

_          "I am."_

_          All the fear was swept away…_

_          … and then returned. Harder. Stronger. Immediate._

_          The footfalls behind him revealed her before she spoke, the pages of the books slipping from his fingers unread. As boots scuffed tile, bile rose in his throat. He was too slow. They were all going to die – Buffy, Angel, Xander, Giles. Oz. Oz was going to die because he couldn't read fast enough…_

_          "Check out the bookworm," the silky voice purred._

_          "Faith!" He turned, speaking aloud without even realizing it, stray strands of red hair tangling in his mouth. The dark-haired Slayer knelt down and spoke, leather pants creaking as she taunted him with her power._

_          "Faith, wait, I w-want to talk to you," he said when she finished. He sprang to his feet, the fur collar of his coat chafing his neck as it sucked up the nervous sweat pooling at the top of his back. He was going to die._

_          "Oh yeah, gimme the speech again. Please. Faith, we're your friends, we can help you, it's not too late."_

_          He wanted to cower, to whimper, to run from her. But what good would it do? The foreign part rose up again, coursing through him like a split-second rush of fire. He would not die. Not like that. Not from her._

_          "It's way too late. You know, it didn't have to be this way. But you made your choice…"_

_          And the fear faded back into the night…_

_          … for only an instant. But when it returned, it was not alone. He knew fear. Fear could not harm him. He was a thing to be feared. Night after night: demons, vampires, friends old and new. All hunted him from the shadows, hoping, as they fought off their own fear, that they could frighten him into a mistake. They feared him, and he welcomed it._

_          But what gripped him now was not the fear he knew so intimately. What gripped him now was the one thing he knew even more intimately._

_          Death._

_          His hands were so cold, so weak. They wouldn't move. The pain … he thought he knew pain … thought he had felt pain when Angel had become a monster. But the monster could never hurt him. Not like the man could._

_          "… I tried to hope for the best, but," Willow was saying, doing her best to comfort him when they both knew she could not, "I'm sorry. It must be horrible." Sunlight from his window illuminated the crags of worry in her face._

_          "I think horrible is still coming. Right now it's worse. Right now, I'm just trying to keep from dying." The tears burned him as he fell into her embrace, the emptiness of Death overpowering him._

_          "Oh, Buffy…"_

_He felt Willow's reassuring hands on his head then, running through his long hair, trying to stave off fear that wasn't there. Nothing could fight Death. Not even him._

_          "I can't breathe, Will," he sobbed, heavy tears rolling from his eyes, "I feel like I can't breathe…"_

_          Even as he said it, the foreign part rose again, a living thing this time. Strong. Angry. Resilient. He could breathe. He would suffer and rise again. He could fight Death. And he would…_

          … because he had a piece of her now. Of all of them. He could feel them, somehow, the pieces of their souls that lived in the blade bonded inextricably to his own.

          The room swam back into focus, the entire circle staring at him wide-eyed as he knelt with the sword, the power of the visions leaving him trembling.

          "What          the fuck," he said when he had control again, "did you guys just do to me?"


	7. Choose Wisely

          "I feel bad for Hermione," Harry said to Ron on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione and Ginny were in the bathroom and the two boys were alone. "I know that's kind of obvious, but I didn't see this one 'til it hit us in the face."

          "Tell me about it," Ron agreed. "Least she knows we think she should be one."

          "Makes you wonder…"

          "About Quidditch captain?"

          "Yeah. I haven't heard anything about it." They had both agreed Harry would be the obvious pick for captain, since he had five years on the team already and no one else had been on it for any significant length of time. What neither of them knew was how one got notified, and uncertainty had gnawed at them all summer. Ron knew he wouldn't be the captain, not with Harry around, but he wanted it badly for his friend.

          "Well, we'll haveta find out soon."

          "Guess so," Harry said, mildly dejected. He had a sinking feeling about it, somewhere deep in his stomach. That same feeling seemed to pervade everything he thought about for the coming year; it was starting to make him antsy. "Hey, did you see the _Daily Prophet yesterday?"_

          "'Mione had it, but I didn't read it. Why?"

          "It said that Grey isn't Gryffindor's Deputy Head anymore."

          "What? Who is?"

          "Jess O'Brien."

          "The psycho sorceress?" Harry nodded. "Cor. That's…" Ron paused and narrowed his eyes. "D'you have the feelin' this year might be a bit different? An' not in a good way?"

          "You read my mind, Ron. You read my mind."

          The year started off the same, however. The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station accompanied by loud cheers from the student body. Hagrid was waiting to meet the incoming students, an enormous lantern in his hand as he towered above the crowd. Hogwarts loomed in the background, its lights overwhelmingly bright in the clear night.

          Harry's stomach uncoiled for the first time since June.

          "Welcome home," he said to no one in particular as he stepped off the train. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione followed, all looking equally pleased.

          "Harry! 'Ey Harry!" Hagrid's voice boomed over the crowd. The lantern swayed perilously back and forth, flames nearly nipping Hagrid's enormous beard.

          "Hagrid!" Harry called, raising a hand in greeting.

          "Come down ter my hut, when yeh get a chance!"

          Harry nodded, and Hagrid smiled before going back to the task of gathering the First Years.

          "They look so small," Ginny said, watching the younger kids.

          "You aren't much bigger," Ron teased. She rewarded him with a scowl.

          "We were really that size," Harry said in amazement. "Scary."

          "And," Hermione added, "we were dumb enough to take on You Know Who and a Professor."

          "Not to mention a troll," Ron chimed in.

          "Yeah," Harry said with mock gravity, looking at his two friends. "We weren't too bright, were we?"

          They all laughed.

          They took a carriage up to the Hogwarts gates, and then slipped into the line to enter the dining hall with the rest of the returning students. Waves and shouts to old friends came and went, dying down as the group got closer to the entrance. Hermione saw two other prefect badges, one on Parvati Patil and the other on Colin Creevey. She wondered who had received the last badge, and resolved herself to find out as soon as possible.

          So far the competition left her underwhelmed.

          On her right, Harry and Ron made their own discovery, as Ron accidentally stepped on someone's foot and received a nasty elbow to the stomach.

          "Hey! That was an accident! Who d'you think … oh. You."

          "Yes, me, Weasley," Malfoy snarled. "Watch where you put those boots, will you? I'd hate for the leather on mine to get scuffed." Several Slytherin sixth-years watched and snickered; Malfoy eyed the boots with distaste. "I didn't like 'em any better when your brothers were wearing 'em."

          Ron's face turned bright red. It didn't help that Malfoy had a prefect badge proudly affixed to his robe either.

          "Now, now, Weasel," Malfoy continued, smirking haughtily, "no need to get all upset." Malfoy put his right hand on Ron's chest, and Ron felt him slip something into one of the pockets of his robe with his left. "Take a look."

          Malfoy's left hand came up quickly and pointed to McGonagall, who was bearing down on them.

          "Cease this idiocy right now," McGonagall said. "Draco Malfoy, if you can't be civilized in any way, I suggest you simply leave."

          "Well, Professor, I …"

          "Let me rephrase. Go. To. The. Dining. Hall. Now."

          "Yes, Professor," Malfoy said, stunned at her tone. They hadn't even really been going after one another yet. Confused, he drifted off deeper into the crowd.

          McGonagall watched him go, then turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

          "You three come with me. Professor Dumbledore would like to see you before the meal."

Dumbledore was waiting for them behind his desk. Three chairs had been arranged in front of it; they were obviously expected. McGonagall pointed to the seats, then shut the door behind her as she left. Ron was surprised to see Hermione glaring at her less than subtly. Dumbledore picked up on it as well.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned back, thoroughly embarrassed but also determined not to let it show. "Yes, Professor?"

"Whoa," Harry said under his breath. Hermione was looking no less angrily at Dumbledore than she had at McGonagall. He saw Ron's raised eyebrow. This was a side of Hermione they had rarely seen.

          "I understand that you're more than a bit upset and confused about our selection of prefects," Dumbledore said, not bothering with any pretense. He wore his favorite blue robe and matching wizard's cap; with his hands folded atop his long white beard, he looked extremely serene, and far healthier than he had in the spring.

          "That's for sure," Ron muttered. Hermione quieted him with a tap of her hand.

          "Perhaps I might be allowed to explain before we march straight for the dueling?" His eyes twinkled with mirth.

          "Of course, Professor," she answered, suddenly abashed at the collapse of her decorum. She blushed as she hurriedly added, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude. I'm a bit flustered."

          "It's quite alright my dear. Quite alright. In your position, I would be rather rude as well. In fact, I would be rude in all three of your positions, at least when I was a bit younger."

          "All three?" Harry asked.

          "Indeed. All three. Allow me to explain." He reached beneath his desk and laid two glittering objects on the table. One was a prefect's badge, similar to the one Percy Weasley had worn. The other was a miniature snitch embossed with a G and resting on a woven chain of maroon and gold.

          Harry knew that it was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain's symbol of office.

          "Harry, Hermione, these are yours if you want them. You may each take the appropriate one and depart, taking Mr. Weasley with you." He met each of their eyes in turn. "Or you may stay and hear why you have not already been given them."

"Can we take them if we stay?"

"Yes, Harry, you may. However, should you do so, and choose them anyway, I will be forced to remove this meeting from your memory. It might be rather awkward."

          "What about me?" Ron asked. He was thoroughly mystified. Harry and Hermione would have to choose whether to take the badges?

"Any decision that they make, you would have to agree to as well. You are here, Mr. Weasley, because I have something to offer the three of you." His eyes flicked to Hermione, and Ron thought a smile flickered behind the white beard. 

"What happens to one of you affects all three, as we have learned so painfully over the years. Therefore, you must all be in agreement about your course of action. I originally intended to do this individually, but Professor McGonagall felt that you must decide together."

The three Gryffindors looked at one another for a half-second, then Harry and Hermione went back to longingly studying the badges on Dumbledore's desk.

          "Take 'em and let's go," Ron said, angered that he had no real reason for being here. There was no badge for him.

          Harry shook his head, watching the Headmaster. "It's important, isn't it?"

          "Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Very important."

          "I don't see what we lose by listening," Hermione chipped in.

          "I do," Ron said. Rational thought overwhelmed his temper, for once. "Whatever he's gonna tell us is something big, something I won't want to turn down. Because there's no badge for me."

          "So?" Harry asked.

"I can edit your memory, so to speak, Harry, but if there is some underlying resentment on Ron's part because of your choice, it won't go away. It will, in fact, get worse because he won't know why he feels that way. That's why this must be a unanimous decision. Should you listen and say no, it would … put a great strain on you all."

          "No," Ron said, the last sentence swiftly deciding him. "I'll leave. It's their decision, not mine. They have stuff at stake here, let them make it. I won't risk that."

          "I'm afraid not, Ron," Hermione said. "It's obviously too important to leave you out, and if we turn those badges down, for whatever it may be, we'll need you."

          "I agree. You now see the dilemma we faced in assigning these offices to the two of you without discussion," Dumbledore said.

          The three Gryffindors pondered their choice in silence. After several minutes, Harry took the lead.

          "I say we listen. All of us," Harry said, "and Ron decides. I know I won't; I don't have the right to, if he's the one who gets nothing."

          "Yes," Hermione agreed, "that's fair."

          Ron went a little pale. "I don't know…"

          "We trust you, Ron. We really do. You know what those offices mean to us."

          "Definitely." Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand. 

Ron looked at Dumbledore, who mentally grinned like the Cheshire Cat while keeping his face still. He had expected no less. Their discussion only reaffirmed what he had explained to the staff two days earlier: these three would not abandon one another.

          "Let's hear it, then."

          "First of all," Dumbledore began, "let me say that you, Miss Granger, were certainly in line to be a prefect. There was in fact some discussion of amending the rules to allow you to be Head Girl a year early." He leaned down and peered at her over his glasses. "Professor Snape was most put out by that, as you can imagine."

          "I'll bet," Ron said. Dumbledore focused on him.

          "Your name was also put forward for a prefect's slot, Mr. Weasley. I will not lie to you, though: to be blunt, ultimately it was decided that your grades were not quite satisfactory, even if you personally would make an excellent prefect," Dumbledore said, a sympathetic look gracing his face. "You should not take it as a comment on your worth that you were not selected."

          "It's a fair cop," Ron admitted. He still felt hurt that he wasn't selected for anything special, but then, he had never expected consideration. A tinge of jealousy flashed through him, dying quickly before it could take root. At least now he knew that Dumbledore and McGonagall thought highly of him. That was something. "Thanks for bein' honest about it."

Dumbledore nodded. "And as for you, Harry, well, the Quidditch captaincy is almost yours by default, even if Minerva had not been convinced that you have the necessary leadership skills. It says a great deal about all of you that Professor McGonagall has so much respect for you. Ultimately, though, it was at my request that these offices," he pointed to the badges, "were withheld."

          "As you all are painfully aware, Lord Voldemort has been steadily increasing the pressure on the Ministry and those of us who oppose him."

          "I thought it was a quiet summer," Hermione said. She had read the _Daily Prophet every day._

          "He did not grab any headlines, but that by no means suggests it was quiet. He is still at-large and active. He will almost certainly continue to threaten the three of you." Dumbledore focused his sharp gaze on them. "With Voldemort returned to power and gaining strength, it has become obvious that you are ill-equipped to face the dangers you so readily embrace. What I am saying, unfortunately, is that this has become as much your fight as it is mine. Each day that passes is a day where we miss the opportunity to train you for it."

          The three Gryffindors gaped.

          "Until now, you had too little knowledge for us to consider anything radically different. That is no longer the case. Also, as you know, we now have two aurors on staff, along with Professor Giles, whose career as a Watcher makes him well suited for this sort of thing. Unlike years past, we have the capability to train you in certain … extraordinary ways."

          He paused, once again inspecting each youthful face carefully with his intelligent blue eyes.

"So this is my offer to the three of you: if you are willing, the staff has agreed to instruct you in an additional course. Professor Rosenberg deemed it 'Aurors for Dummies,' which is a muggle reference that I admit I do not understand. In simple terms, it will be a supplemental course of advanced Dark Arts training. Before you answer," he said as Ron and Harry opened their mouths, "you must hear the caveats."

          "Your training will be extensive, difficult, and time-consuming. You cannot undertake such a course of study and accept these positions," he gestured to the badges, "because you will not have time to properly discharge your duties."

          "Would we have to quit the Quidditch team?" Harry asked.

          "No. It would raise great suspicion if you did, and this must be done in absolute secrecy. Should your parents or others learn of it, the Ministry would quickly be notified and the course shut down. Minister Fudge and his compatriots believe certain limits should be applied to our curriculum that do not include any of the things you may learn. The consequences would be grave for all of us. That is the first reason for secrecy."

          "The second reason is rather more simple. Should Voldemort himself learn of it, he may attempt to prevent it by striking at the three of you. You must remember, Harry, that his desire to kill you has not faded with the passage of time."

"That's for sure."

          "I fear, unfortunately, that denying you these offices will tip Voldemort to the fact that something is amiss. As long as he does not know what that something might be, we should be fine."

          "Would it just be us?" Hermione asked, after they spent several moments contemplating Dumbledore's statement.

          "No. There is one other candidate who will most likely be joining you."

          "Who…"

          "You will learn the candidate's identity at the proper time, Mr. Weasley, should you accept."

          "Okay, but why d'you have to wipe our memories if we say no?"

          "Because I will not jeopardize anyone else for whom we may do this in the future," Dumbledore answered.

          "Would it be dangerous?"

          "Yes, Miss Granger. Training of this type is always dangerous. We will try to minimize the danger, but removing it would render the training useless."

          That answer clearly left Hermione and Ron troubled. When no one spoke for several minutes, Harry made a suggestion.

          "Professor? Would it be alright if we stepped outside and discussed this privately?

          "By all means, Harry. By all means."

          In the hallway, three pairs of eyes skittered back and forth, touching each other only briefly before settling on random spots on the wall.

          "Well?" Harry began. "What d'you guys think?"

          "We could die," Hermione said. "I read about auror training once. A few decades back, they were still losing one in five trainees to 'accidents' during lessons." She made air-quote motions when she said accidents.

          Ron gulped, his eyes wide. "Like what kind of accidents?"

          "Eaten by dragons. Poisoned. Burned to death when spells went awry."

          "Cor, that sounds like fun. I wonder if they list that in the syllabus, so that we know it's comin'."

          "Ron," Harry scolded, "c'mon. This is serious." He looked at Hermione. "We could also die if Voldemort succeeds; I don't think we're increasin' our risk any. Do you?"

          "I don't want to die," Hermione agreed, "but that's a good point, too. While Professor Dumbledore was explaining his reasons I thought of something you said out at the train. That we fought Voldemort and a Professor when we first came here, and we were stupid."

          "I was joking," Harry replied.

          "But you were right. We were stupid. But how much smarter are we now?"

          "What d'you mean?"

          "What I mean, Ron, is how much better prepared are we now than we were then? We know more magic, but knowing the Hogwarts curriculum and a few extra spells is not the same as being trained in defending against the dark arts."

          Her large eyes settled on Harry as her voice turned solemn. His scar seemed to glow red in the dim hallway.

          "You're going to fight it out to the end with Voldemort, aren't you, Harry?"

          "I am," he admitted.

          She looked back at Ron. "Are you going to walk away from Harry while he's fighting Voldemort?"

          "Not a chance in hell."

          "I'm not, either," she told Harry. "Knowing that, I'd say it's time we began preparing the right way, don't you?"

          "I can't ask you guys to do this. Voldemort killed my parents. It's my fight, not yours," Harry responded weakly.

"You don't believe that, Harry, and neither do we," Hermione replied. "We've shared every fight, serious or not, since we beat that troll, and they haven't gotten easier. Dumbledore's right; this is our war. Not yours. Ours. We need to fight it as best we can."

          "But I know how bad you want to be a prefect," Harry said, groping for an excuse to let them off the hook.

          "That won't matter a bit if Voldemort kills me, Harry. Or Ron. Or you. I'm not going to stop fighting him just so I can wear a stupid badge and order people around. You know that."

          Tears gathered in Harry's eyes as he realized how far they were willing to go for him. He could see the same realization in the other two, as their eyes grew shiny in the torchlight.

          "You guys…"

          "Aw, Harry, don't say it. 'Mione'll just start cryin'," Ron said with a half-smile. A tear ran down his cheek, and the sight so overwhelmed Hermione that she didn't even rebuke him for his teasing. "Let's just go back in and tell him yes."


	8. The Gang's All Here

          "There they are." Willow pointed to Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who shuffled in at the tail end of the crowd. Most of the other Gryffindors had claimed seats, but Ginny and Neville had saved spaces for them. "What do you think? Did they accept?"

          "They better have," Jess grumbled from Grey's other side. "We're not spendin' an entire year workin' with only that one kid."

          "That would be rather disappointing," Giles agreed.

          "Don't talk about it," Grey said. "We'll get in the habit and before you know it the _Daily Prophet_ will be doing a five-parter on it."

          "Someone's grouchy," Willow teased. Grey said nothing, instead sweeping the crowd with his eyes. "Grey?"

          He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. Otherwise his impassive mask was firmly in place, as it had been since leaving his parents' apartment.

          "You're being unfriendly guy today. Is something wrong? Did I do something?"

          A wave of contrition passed through him, and he softened his expression. "No, you didn't do anything. I'm just … a little tense. Don't worry about it."

          She frowned but didn't comment, waiting for him to finish.

          "I wish you had told me about the lightsaber," he said quietly after a few moments of silence.

          "You would've tried to stop us. It was too important."

          "We don't even know that it'll be any stronger."

          "Dumbledore said it would. So did your father." She paused. "It didn't … hurt, did it?"

          "What? No, Will. It didn't hurt. Not physically, if that's what you mean. It was really intense."

          "Do you want to talk about it? I'd like to help, if that's what's making you cranky."

          "I'll be okay." Her concerned gaze held steady. "I'll tell you about it afterwards. Will that be enough?"

          She smiled and nodded. "I'd like that." She put a finger to her lips. "Now ssshhh, I wanna see this."

          Willow's second sorting ceremony went just as quickly as the first. The kids were still tiny, still nervous, and still adorable. Some (whose parents were muggles, Willow figured) absolutely gawked at the sorting hat, their eyes wide as it sang and then wider as it spoke to them.

          "This is so neat! I wish I had gotten sorted," she whispered to Grey. He nodded, silently amused at her giddiness.

          "Maybe next year," Tara, also amused, said from Willow's other side. She patted her friend on the shoulder. "You're an excellent candidate for sorting, hon."

          "You're making fun of me," Willow pouted. "I'm serious. I wanna know. Don't you?"

          The edges of Grey's lips twitched upward in a tiny grin; Tara laughed at Willow's insistence, stopping herself with a hand to her mouth when some of the professors glared.

"Good evening, good evening," Dumbledore said over the quieting post-meal din, his right hand raised to implore silence. "I hope you have all enjoyed this sumptuous feast. For those of you joining us for the first time, welcome to Hogwarts. Many of you have been here before, of course, and to you I say, welcome back." A round of applause ricocheted across the room; Dumbledore waited for its end before resuming his speech. "Now, before we depart for the dormitories, those of you returning students will be shocked to learn that I have a number of announcements to make." 

The expected laughter brought a twinkle to Dumbledore's eye. This was his favorite evening of the entire year, always filled with promise and possibility without ever a disappointing note. He took great pride in overseeing a school where his students (and he did think of them as his, though he hadn't taught them in years) returned every year with excitement in their hearts.

For the next sentence, he added a hefty dose of gravity to his voice. "Please remember, all of you, new or old, that entering the forest is extremely forbidden." One or two of them would venture in, he knew, likely receiving the scare of their lives. It often took only one trip to make the dire warning hit home. "Do not enter it at any time." His eyes worked their way across the room, letting the warning sink in, before he continued.

"Excellent. With that out of the way, I shall proceed to some happier news. For the first time in a good long while, we have had our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Giles, return for a second year." Cheers went up among the crowd. "As for new additions, they are remarkably few this term. It is my great pleasure to formally introduce Miss Tara Maclay; many of you know Miss Maclay, as she came to us in the middle of last term. I felt, however," he looked at Tara, who stood behind him, blushing, "that a formal introduction should be made. Miss Maclay will be assisting Professor Snape's Potions classes." 

He waited for the applause to die down and for Tara, now thoroughly embarrassed, to take her seat again. On the dais, Willow squeezed her arm and smiled.

"This leads me nicely into my final announcements. Now, as many of you no doubt recall, last year Gryffindor revived the tradition of a Deputy Head of the House. More than a hundred years ago, the Hogwarts staff did away with that position, but historically it performed a very important function for the community."

          He paused, the crowd listening intently now. "For many years, the school appointed as Deputy Head a recent Hogwarts graduate to provide a friendly ear for the students of their former house. In times past, every house had one. Students were encouraged to use this person as a resource, both for school and for life after Hogwarts. Though it had been discontinued for some time, the current faculty felt that we would quietly reinstate it last year, on a trial basis, with Gryffindor House and Mr. David Grey." The Gryffindors clapped loudly. "Yes, yes, I think we all agree that despite Grey's lack of a Gryffindor background, it was a great success."

          "Because that was the case, we are happy to say that the program is being expanded. First, in Gryffindor house, I am sorry to say that Mr. Grey will no longer serve in that capacity. He will instead be assuming a new position, that of Assistant to the Headmaster, through which he will perform a variety of roles." Dumbledore glanced back at Grey, then spoke directly to the Gryffindor table. "He also demanded that I mention that any Gryffindors who wish to speak with him as they did in his former capacity should feel free to do so. He is rather fond of you all, it seems." 

The clapping started again, but he waved them to silence. "As for his old position, that will now be filled by Miss Jessica O'Brien." Jess stood up and waved to the table. The older students, impressed, led a hearty ovation; Jess soaked it in, returning their applause with a bow and a demure smile. "Miss O'Brien, as many of you I'm sure have read, graduated from Hogwarts and went on to a distinguished career as an auror. We are very glad that she chose to join us." 

He paused, shifting his gaze to the Slytherins. "As for the expansion of the program, we were unable to find a Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw to fill the vacant positions. We urge those of you who are seventh-years to consider this position when you leave, so that we will not have to repeat such a deficit."

          "However," he went on, "this does not mean that all of those houses will be without a Deputy Head. I am pleased to report that the faculty has appointed Professor Maclay to serve as Deputy Head of Slytherin house for the coming year."

          Most of the Slytherins applauded, some more warily than others. Snape had a slight sneer on his face, the only reflection of his elation that Dumbledore had accepted his suggestion. Willow, Jess, and Grey all turned to Tara, stunned at the news and full of questions.

          The look of shock and horror on Tara's face made it perfectly clear that she had no answers.


	9. The Other Introduction

          On the other side of the world, another authority figure was finishing up a slightly different welcoming speech.

          "… And at no time will you handle the money without consulting with me. It would be un-American to give away profits, and until you foreigners learn our ways, I won't risk it."

          "Yes, Miss Emerson," Fred and George chorused. Dawn thought they seemed slightly green, which made sense to her. Anya's graphic description of the consequences of disobeying her would have turned anyone's stomach. Xander and Buffy had watched, vaguely amused, as the boys learned the circumstances of their new employment.

          "So, you guys ready to go back yet?" Dawn asked with a smile.

          "Give us five minutes to pack," George said under his breath. Fred elbowed him to stay quiet.

          "I think we'll survive, Miss Summers."

          "Oh, call me Dawn," she said, batting her eyes. The Weasley twins were pretty cute, and not much older than her…

          "Don't even think it, Dawnie," Buffy said, reading her sister's mind. Dawn narrowed her eyes and pouted but didn't respond. "So, now that you're all orientated to the Magic Box, how do you guys feel about a quick patrol? We'll show you all the good cemeteries. It'll be fun."

          Fred and George looked at each other.

          "Sure," Fred said with a shrug.

          "Yeah. Fun." George sounded less excited than his brother, but they both retrieved their wands from their packs. "Feels weird, doesn't it?"

          "Yeah. I know what you mean," Fred answered. Then he saw the others looking at them oddly. "He means doin' magic wearin' these whacko muggle clothes. Does every muggle dress this way?"

          Buffy and Dawn couldn't quite hold down their giggles. Fred and George had little muggle clothing, and had arrived earlier wearing their best robes. Xander had taken them in hand immediately; Fred had on a pair of his jeans and a navy blue Hawaiian shirt with fluorescent green flowers, while George a pair of plaid lounging pants and an oversized yellow sweater made by his mother.

          "We'll take you to the mall tomorrow," Dawn said, "and get you outfitted. You'll blend in no time."

          The boys traded another look, and Fred spoke for both of them, his face slightly red. "That's alright Miss … Dawn. I don't reckon we're quite ready to buy anythin' here just yet. But maybe some other time."

          Buffy understood the subtext readily. "Don't worry about the money; I'm sure Anya would be happy to loan you some …"

          "The hell I would!"

          "… so that you don't frighten away customers and lose business when you're dressed in your robes or Xander's laundry clothes."

          "Fine. I'll loan you money for clothes," Anya grumbled. Giles had been adamant that the Weasleys should be accommodated in adjusting to muggle life, but it didn't soften the blow of parting with money. "It's coming out of Giles' profits, though."

          "We won't need much," George said. "Just enough to work in. We've got clothes for most other stuff."

          "We'll deal tomorrow," Buffy said, snatching up Mr. Pointy from the research table. "Let's get out there before we miss the entire undead lunch hour."

          "Master are you sure we should be doing this I don't like doing this it feels bad."

          The gray man-shape glared at his minion, who for the duration of the evening had diminished to half of his normal size and now fluttered above his master's left shoulder. "You are a simpleton, Recks. We must do this. We have much to learn."

          "This Slayer is tough she's supposed to be very tough."

          "I am well aware of her capabilities. She is tougher than the rumors suggested."

          "You learned when you touched her master? Learned how tough she is if she's very tough?"

          "She survived a return from heaven with her sanity intact." 

Recks gasped; very few souls had the strength to manage that, and he had never met one. He fluttered to the pavement, his tiny legs barely raising his bottom off dirty ground, and turned his beady black eyes on the magic shop. He recognized the hunger in his master's shadowy face and spoke without thinking.

          "Is she a new one master like Miss Isabel I miss Miss Isabel she was so pretty and URK!" The backhanded blow caught him across the face and sent him sprawling.

          "Never speak of her! You know the rules."

          "urk… ugh … yes, master," Recks replied, choking on his own blood. "I'm sorry master I know you miss her too and loved her even though you had to …" Recks trailed off, knowing that mentioning Isabel's fate would surely bring about his own painful death. Possibly even two of them, if he came back too fast after the first. 

          Patrol began uneventfully enough; Buffy let Fred and George each incinerate a fledgling in the first cemetery, a task they tackled with grim determination and plenty of skill, Buffy decided. As they walked along, Xander at their side with a water gun and stake, she tried to get a better sense of what they could do.

          "So you've got the fire thing down," she said after the slaughter of the second vampire, "that's handy. What other cool stuff can you do? Willow used to do a locator spell for demons. How about that?"

          "Nope," George shook his head.

          "Uh uh."

          "Okay, hmm … She once wanted to make a ball of sunlight to use as a portable vamp microwave. How about that?"

          "Don't think so," Fred said, stepping past a particularly ornate headstone.

          "Not me," George agreed. "What's a microwave?"

          "Never mind."

          "She put Angel's soul back in one time. Did you guys learn that?" Xander asked. "Giving souls to vampires?"

          "Definitely not," George told him. 

Fred shook his head. "S'beyond me."

"Willow used to float pencils," Buffy said, her brow furrowed as she tried to remember the simplest things Willow had done. So far these wizards didn't seem quite up to her friend's standard. "She staked a vamp with one a few years back." Xander looked at her questioningly. "In the mayor's office." She turned back to the Weasleys. "How about that?"

"Eh … I guess. Never tried it, though."

"Me neither. But we can float stuff, yeah."

          "That's a relief," Buffy said sarcastically. "So what … do you do, exactly? Other than burn stuff?"

          "Well, we're hell on brooms," George said. "Never met one we couldn't ride."

          "Brooms?" Xander said, astonished. "I thought … Willow always said … that was kind of a myth, you know, witches and broomsticks?"

          "Hey, listen, do we look like ladies to …" Fred said. 

A tooth-rattling growl cut him off.

          "Shall I let him go now master right now?"

          "Yes, Recks. Now." The shadowy form watched the Slayer's party freeze in place at the sound of his pet's growl, and a fleeting smile passed across his indistinct lips.

          The dark blur burst through the tree line into the cemetery at inhuman speed.

          "Bloody…" George shouted as it came tearing towards him. He suddenly apparated and disapparated behind it. "… Hell!"

          "Xander, get back!" Buffy shouted, dropping Mr. Pointy to the ground as she dove for cover. The blur stopped when George vanished, and its true form was revealed: a hideously deformed tiger, sporting horns where its eyes should have been and a spiked tail. The claws extending from its paws gleamed razor-sharp in the moonlight.

          Buffy advanced on it warily, watching it as its horns turned back to point at her. "Okay, Tony, let's do this nice and easy." It growled. "Fred! Could you do some sort of tying spell thingy?"

          The tiger-thing obviously heard her. It attacked as Fred raised his wand, leaping at the boy with a ferocious, saliva-dripping howl. Buffy launched herself at the wizard, knocking him away with her shoulder the instant before the tiger-thing landed. Its snout drove into Buffy's exposed ribcage.

          "Ow!" She shouted as they both went tumbling across the grass. She rose from the collision in a fighting crouch, one leg extended off to the side. The tiger-thing did the same, its four knees bent in position to spring.

          Buffy moved first.

          As fast as the tiger-thing was, the Slayer was faster. Leading with her right fist, she snapped three quick punches to its striped face, then hurtled onto its back and wrapped an arm around its throat. The tiger-thing howled again, then attempted to buck her off and swat her with its tail. One of the inch-long spikes caught her black pants and ripped a hole in them.

          "Damn!" She rolled off and kicked it hard in the midsection. "These are my favorite pants!" When she raised her leg for another kick, a paw flashed out and rapped her across the forehead. Buffy went flying, crashing to the ground in a dazed heap. Spinning around, the tiger-thing carefully stalked toward her, intent on finishing its prey.

          A deafening bang erupted from George's wand, drawing its attention momentarily from the Slayer and back onto the wizard.

          "That's right, boy," George said. "Look at me, you daft bugger. That's right," he glanced quickly at Fred, "ORIS CORNEI!"

          "CIRCUMLIGO!" Fred shouted. Ropes erupted from the tip of his wand, skimming along the grass until they reached up and bound the tiger-thing's mouth closed. It shrieked in pain as George's spell simultaneously took effect and a new horn pierced the roof of its snout, growing until it broke through and Xander could see the tip. With a gag, he tossed his stake to Buffy.

          She moved in quickly and put the shrieking beast out of its misery.

          "Wow master the wizards are good did you see how good the wizards are? Horn tongue and wand ropes together very good master very quick."

          The shadow grunted. "Yes, Recks. I saw. Their presence complicates matters."

          "What about the vampires should we send the other vampires they're ready to go."

          "No," the shadow said firmly. "The bargain was to first distract her. I don't wish her dead quite yet, and their restraint is not something to be depended on." A gray hand motioned and Recks followed his master deeper into the night.

          "Wow," Xander said, helping Buffy to her feet. "You okay, Buff?"

          "Do I look okay?" She asked, sorrowfully examining the hole in her shredded pant leg.

          "Actually, you look Grrrrreat!" She gave him a look. "Oh, come on. Someone had to say it."

          "So not the case. You guys okay?"

          "I'm good."

          "Bleedin' fantastic," Fred agreed. "What the hell is that thing?"

          "Hellmouth tourist, I'm sure," Buffy answered. "We should hit the books, find out if there are more coming. Maybe call the Watcher."

          "G-man will know," Xander agreed. "Pretty fancy moves for some guys who wear robes," he told Fred.

          "Oh, we're nowhere near as useless as we seem," he said, tongue-in-cheek. "Tell me, d'you get attacked by zoo runaways a lot?"

          "When Animals Attack is pretty much never. We can handle it pretty well."

"Unless there are bunnies involved," Buffy added.

          "Bunnies?"

          "Anya. Bunnies freak her out."

          "Do they now?" George said, careful not to smile.


	10. The Snakepit

          When Willow and Hermione caught up with Tara in her quarters, she had worked herself into a complete frenzy.

          "Can we come in?" Willow said as Tara opened the door. "Pretty please?"

          "O-o-o-of course, W-will. C-come in. H-h-hi, Hermione."

          "Tara, baby, you seem a little nervous," Willow said, taking Tara's arm. She led her over to a plush chair in front of the empty hearth. "Sit. Do you have tea stuff?"

          "B-b-by the b-bed."

          "Hermione, could you make her a cup? And heat it with your wand?"

          "Sure, Willow." She touched Tara on the shoulder. "Try and relax, okay, Tara?"

          "Relax. R-right."

          "When do you have to go over there?"

          "T-t-t-t-twenty minutes," Tara forced out, pausing to get her stutter under control. She had no idea why she was the new Deputy Head of Slytherin house. Dumbledore had referred her to Snape, who only demanded that she meet him in their common room. He had offered no explanation, and she had been so nervous and flustered that she couldn't stutter out any questions before he walked away.

          "Okay. Twenty minutes is awhile," Willow said, using her best soothing voice as she took Tara's hand. "We'll go get Dumbledore and fix this."

          "N-no, Will. We can't. I tried. He s-said Snape demanded me. I th-th-think something's going on, though. He had a funny look."

          "Like he knew something you didn't?" Hermione asked as she handed Tara a cup of magically heated tea.

          "Uh huh."

          She nodded. "He does that sometimes. He wouldn't if it was something bad, though. He's not like that."

          "What does Snape want from you tonight?"

          "H-he wants to introduce me. T-to the kids, you know."

          "I don't envy you that," Hermione sympathized. "They're an unpleasant bunch."

          "I-I can't do this. I can b-b-barely speak," Tara said, wide, anxious eyes looking up at Willow. She tried to sip the tea, but her hands shook.

          "There must be something … I know!" Hermione said, cutting her own sentence short. "What if we got rid of your stutter?"

          "You can do that?"

          Hermione nodded. "It's temporary, but at least you could sound like you weren't nervous. I read about it when … well, awhile ago," she finished, not wanting to explain that she had been searching for a spell to fix her front teeth at the time. "Would you like me to cast it?"

          Tara nodded vigorously, suddenly emboldened. "I-if you think it'll work. I'd b-be a lot less nervous, then."

          "It should," Hermione said, raising her wand. "Let's try."

          "So are you really mad at me? About the lightsaber?" Willow had seen Tara off and returned to Grey's room. She leaned back and pressed herself against his chest. Her head rested on his shoulder. In the still darkness of the room, he lightly twirled a few strands of her hair with his finger as he felt himself sink deeper into the bed.

          "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Disturbed is more it, I guess. Not really mad." Her red locks felt silky against his hand. "You guys took a big risk."

          "No. Well, okay, yeah, kinda, but it'll be worth it. Besides, I don't think it would have hurt me too…"

          "I didn't mean you," he interrupted. "I meant with Buffy. I talked to Dumbledore about it today; he was really surprised that you brought her in."

          "I told her about the risks and stuff, Grey. She volunteered. It might make a huge difference in the strength of the spell."

          "Or you could've killed her, Will. Or worse, changed her somehow. You know how important she is. And not just for us, but for everyone."

          Willow rolled out of his embrace, turning over to face him while they talked. "Yeah, I think I do know. I think I know pretty darn well, since, hello, full-time Slayerette here. Well, former, anyway."

          "Of course, but …"

          "And," Willow went on, her argument moving into a babble as she got increasingly worked up, "she's only my best friend in the whole world. I think I might not want to risk her life for something pointless, which I did not do, thank you very much."

          "You took a piece of her soul. That's serious business, Will."

          "I know it is, Grey. That's why I practiced for it for three weeks before I did it. I gave away some of my own, too, I'll have you know."

          "I know … I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. It's a beautiful gift that you gave me. It was just … really intense, and it made me nervous about how dangerous it might have been. That's why I've been upset."

          "Did … did something happen to you? Like when you touched it?"

          He watched her carefully. She had no idea. "You didn't know about the visions?"

          She sat straight up, totally surprised. "You had visions? When? What?"

          "When I ignited the sword," he said solemnly, "I … saw things."

          "Like what?"

          "I think they were memories. From the souls in the sword."

          "From me?"

          He nodded. "And Tara and Buffy."

          "Tell me."

          "Are you sure…"

          "Tell me, Grey."

          "It was a little weird, like I became whoever the memory belonged to…" He told her each one in turn. At the end, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

          "Why are you crying?"

          "Because it's so … those were so hard, those times. You don't even know. Tara was so scared that night with the candle. Me too, in fact. And when Faith walked into that room … and goddess," she sniffled, "when Angel left Buffy, she was so devastated, Grey."

          "I know, Will. I know."

          "You couldn't. Those were…" 

He pulled her in to him, tenderly quieting her with a finger to her lips.

"I do know, Will. I was there, feeling what you guys felt. Living the memories, the way you did." She looked up at him and he brushed some of her tears away. "I think I get it, now. The magic in the sword was bonding with me. Some spells do that."

She understood immediately. "The spell was showing you the strengths of … of us, I guess. Showing you …"

          "Who you really are," he finished. "That was really brave, standing up to Faith like that." He said her name with a surprisingly bitter twist, and Willow put her hand to his face.

          "Hey. She didn't hurt me, even with that big scary knife she had that was almost a sword."

          "Um," he grunted. 

          "What were the other visions like?"

          "Others?"

          "From your parents? And Jess?"

          "No visions from them."

          "No?"

          "Uh uh," he answered. "Dumbledore said it was because I already had pieces of them. He said that was why you needed my parents, because the sword has to a mixture of parts of me and parts of … other people."

          "I guess that makes sense, 'cuz they're, well, your parents. You were created from them, really. But what about Jess?"

          The silence lingered for a few minutes while Grey debated what to answer. He finally settled on the truth. "Do you know what a _Catenatus_ charm is?"

          "Sort of. Jess said she cast it on you, and it tells her if you're alive."

          His eyebrows rose in shock. "When did she tell you that?

          "When you were all charred from Voldemort's death ray and I was whacko black magic woman. Why? What's the big deal?"

          "She didn't tell you how it works, did she." It wasn't a question. "Or that…"

          "Or that what?" Willow said fearfully.

          "Or that it's pretty illegal to do it the way we did. You're supposed to get Ministry supervision and approval, because it can be twisted in all sorts of bad ways unless the intent is pure."

          "How does it work?" Tension oozed through Willow's body, all sorts of fears rising up inside of her.

          "I … it's complicated. Too complicated for me to explain right now," he added, his eyes looking haunted for the first time in months. The look alone frightened Willow to the core. "Just trust me when I say that the requirements for the lightsaber were already met."

          Tara watched them.

          They watched Tara.

          No one spoke.

          Snape rarely felt compelled to laugh, but sometimes it was far more tempting than others. Such as now. Tara looked frightened to death, her face pale in the dim torchlight. The situation was both amusing and necessary, and he enjoyed it fully.

          "Miss Maclay," he said in his most sinister overtones, "meet your house." He couldn't wait for her to start stuttering. It would be priceless to see the entirety of Slytherin house holding in laughter.

          "Hello, everyone," she said evenly, the false fear receding from her face. She silently thanked Hermione again for her copious research. "I'm Tara Maclay. Please feel free to call me Miss Maclay, as the head of your house does, instead of Professor. That's not really me. Professor Dumbledore told you why I'm here, and I hope you'll all feel comfortable coming and talking to me when you need someone else to speak with," she covertly glanced at Snape, "and I'm not just here for magical or school stuff either. You can talk to me about anything, any time. Day or night."

          In the back of the sixth-year congregation, Draco watched with interest. He knew Snape openly disliked his assistant, and the Potions Master was revealing only the barest hint of surprise at Tara's composure. Draco knew that meant he was completely astonished, and that made him want to chuckle. He glanced around; most of his Slytherin cohorts eyed her with disdain, but a few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say. Especially some of the boys. _She's a looker_, he admitted mentally, _but the goody two-shoes bit is a little off-putting_. From their faces, most of the Slytherins seemed to mirror that sentiment.

          "Very well," Snape said when Tara had finished. "You may return to your rooms. I expect all of you well rested in my class tomorrow. I do loathe taking points from my own house on the first day. The current password, lest you forget, is motherwort. Good evening." He motioned for Tara to follow him into his quarters, which abutted the common room's east side.

          She trailed him as he whispered to a painting of Salazar Slytherin, suppressing a shiver when the painting eyed her evilly, and entered his inner sanctum. With the exception of a small sitting area in front, Snape had darkened the room to pitch-blackness. A sphere of magical light floated in an elaborate candelabra on Snape's coffee table; several uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs surrounded it, barely visible in the dim illumination. Snape pointed to the chair closest to the door, then took one across the table as Tara sat.

          "I am … interested to know how you managed to master your stuttering," Snape said when they were settled in.

          "Sorry to disappoint you, Professor," she said with a smile.

          When she didn't speak again, Snape grew impatient. "I asked you a question."

          "What you asked was why I didn't stutter and sacrifice any chance to establish my authority with a bunch of kids whose attitudes probably aren't a whole lot different than yours, right?" The smile became a smirk. "Anti-stuttering charm, courtesy of Hermione." The smirk became a glare. "I'd appreciate it if you explained what was going on here. We both know that I'm not the ideal match for Slytherin house."

          Snape watched her, his eyes searching but betraying no emotion. Without the stutter, her shyness had vanished. "I see. Isn't Granger the clever one."

          A knock interrupted them; Snape gestured with his wand and the door opened, allowing Draco to slip inside.

          "Thank you, Professor," Draco said, standing at attention beside Tara's chair.

          Snape nodded to him. "As for your question, Miss Maclay, I have asked Draco to join us so that I may answer it for both of you at once. You are, in fact, the last person I would prefer to associate with Slytherin house in this capacity. Which is exactly why you are the perfect choice."

          _Snape's having an attack of the clevers_, Draco thought.

          "H-how, exactly?" Tara asked.

          "Hmm. Charm wearing off, I see. That's terrible," Snape said coldly. Tara, embarrassed, did her best to ignore it. "You are the perfect choice because not only will the children tell you nothing, they will go far out of their way to avoid your notice."

          Draco immediately figured out what was happening. "Brilliant," he said to Snape.

          The right corner of Snape's lip twitched upwards. "You understand, then, Mr. Malfoy, how this will be useful?" Draco nodded. "Excellent."

          "I-I'm still a little c-confused," Tara said.

          "It's quite simple. Many of the children in this house have access to a great deal of Voldemort's sensitive information. We suspect several of them have already been inducted as Death Eaters, in fact. They trust Draco, because of his father. Draco is a prefect, and thus has certain powers and rights that other children do not. If they are attempting to hide illicit activities from you, they will almost certainly procure Draco's assistance in doing so."

          "I … y-you're using me as a decoy, huh?"

          "If that offends you, Miss Maclay, than I …"

          She interrupted him. "I have to go with Draco on this one. That's pretty brilliant, Professor. I-I wouldn't have thought you'd be that capable," she said, a shy smile masking the barb.

          "Yes, well …" Snape said slowly, taken aback by her easy acceptance of it. He had expected her to argue, but once again, this girl turned out to be much more than she seemed. "I'm glad that you agree." He paused, a triumphant sneer sliding onto his face. 

"Welcome to Slytherin house, Miss Maclay."


	11. Differing Opinions

          "There's no reason for us to be takin' that stupid class anymore. We know the basics. I'm never gonna brew a single potion after I leave here," Ron grumped as they left Snape's classroom, "so I don't see why I haveta be there."

          "Everyone should know the basics of potion-making, Ron. It's an important part of becoming a good wizard," Hermione replied, returning her potions materials to her satchel.

          "Ah, bugger that. Charlie an' Bill are good wizards, you don't see them brewing up stupid potions."

          "So what do we have now?" Harry asked, hoping to head off an argument.

          "Magical Creatures, with … oh."

          "Slytherin?" Ron asked.

          "Slytherin," Hermione confirmed with a frown. "Well, at least there probably won't be any imps."

          Ron and Harry both grimaced.

          Thankfully, Magical Creatures passed without incident. Hermione figured the absence of any actual creatures had something to do with it. The Slytherins deviated not at all from their normal behavior, snickering in the background as Hagrid explained about the proper feeding and care of mephits. A pack of them were apparently in transit and expected to arrive for class use later in the week.

          "Malfoy keeps watchin' us," Ron whispered to Harry halfway through class. "He's got a weird glint in his eye. I don't like it."

          "Relax," Harry said. "It's probably nothing. Malfoy's just trying to make you twitchy."

          "It's workin'."

          Ron tried to ignore it, but he kept feeling Malfoy's eyes on him for the rest of class. When the period ended, he decided he couldn't take it anymore. The Slytherins turned to leave, but Ron grabbed his arm.

          "You got a problem with me, Malfoy?"

          Draco shook his arm free. "I think you know exactly where I stand, Weasley." _Idiot. Did you even read the damn note? "Don't touch me again." He mouthed the word 'note'; Ron furrowed his brow in surprise._

          "Hey now, you kids don' be startin'," Hagrid said, coming between them before Ron had a chance to discern what Malfoy had said. "C'mon, Ron, been meanin' ter have yeh up ter my hut anyway. Go on, Draco, get yerself abou' yer business, eh?"

          Malfoy leaned in, speaking for the Slytherin ears and leaving Ron fuming at his words, "Just remember, Weasel, there won't always be a janitor around to save you." He smiled evilly and walked off, two Slytherin girls clinging to his arms.

          "That sonuva…"

          "Don' worry abou' him, Ron," Hagrid said, steering the boy back to Harry and Hermione. "No good, that one. C'mon. Somethin' I been wantin' ter show yeh."

          Hagrid's hut looked the same to Harry as it always did: huge crockery piled everywhere, furniture looking worn and comfortable, Fang sleeping by the chair…

          "Um, Hagrid … that's not Fang," Harry said. In the shadowed light he couldn't quite see the dog, but he knew it wasn't Hagrid's usual companion.

          "Nope," Hagrid said with a grin. "Shut the door, would yeh, Hermione?" She did. "Now, then, I s'pose yeh can come out here," he told the dog.

          The dog stood, stretched, and walked into a shaft of sunlight. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized it; he never quite knew what sort of pet Hagrid might bring home, and half of them had led him into messy scrapes.

          With sunlight beaming down on it, the dog changed into a wizard.

          "Hello, Harry," Sirius said with a smile. His dark hair, still long enough to reach his shoulders, was neatly brushed and clean; his robes looked moderately new, and he had put on enough weight that the bones of his cheeks no longer had a skull-like prominence on his face.

          Overjoyed, Harry ran forward and hugged Sirius; the older wizard hugged him back awkwardly.

          "Sirius? You're back?"

          "So it appears. I hope you don't mind, since I'm not particularly planning on going anywhere for awhile."

          "Mind? Why would we mind?" Hermione frowned at Ron. "Oh, right."

          "I didn't think you would," he said to Ron and Hermione with a chuckle. "How're you two doing?"

          "We're fine, thanks," Hermione said hurriedly; she was curious about Sirius being with Hagrid. "I don't mean to sound rude, but … I thought that Professor Dumbledore was trying to find a way to keep you permanently concealed? So that you didn't have to spend all your time as a dog."

          "He was, and he actually found a man to craft an Amulet of Sorkin, but I turned him down."

          "What's the amulet do?" Harry asked.

          "The wearer can look like someone else," Hermione said. "You can even adjust who you look like."

          "They can be dangerous, though – people who wear them tend to lose their personalities after a time. We decided this would be a better compromise, me living with Hagrid."

          "What happened to Fang?" Ron asked.

          "Gave him ter a friend o' mine," Hagrid said. "He's got a farm near West Oxbury, needed somethin' big enough to keep the bugbears away, an' Fang's good at tha'. Decided 'sfer the best when Dumbledore tol' me abou' Sirius an' all."

          "This is great!" Harry said enthusiastically. "You're here for good."

          "I am," Sirius responded, still smiling. "An' actually, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Harry. In the next few days, Dumbledore's going to want to talk to the three of you, and …"

          "You mean about the auror training?" Ron broke in.

          Sirius' expression grew grave. "He's already spoken with you, I take it."

          "We're going to do it," Harry said.

          "You are?" For the first time since the night in the Shrieking Shack, Harry saw real anger on Sirius' face. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

          "'Ey, Sirius, there's no need ta get mad at 'em. Dumbledore…" 

Sirius ignored Hagrid and continued.        "Do you know what they're going to do? How badly you could be hurt?"

          "Sirius, we…"

          Harry cut Hermione off. "We made a decision, Sirius." He locked eyes with his godfather. "Did you really think we could say no?"

          "You said yes, but you have no idea what you're in for. I spent a month arguing against Dumbledore even making the offer. The things they have planned for you … Harry, you know I'm very fond of you. Of all three of you. I know you're capable, but this … this goes way beyond what you can handle." His face and voice softened. "I don't want to see you hurt."

          "An' we do?" Harry said forcefully. "That's the point, Sirius. Is the training more dangerous than another invasion by Voldemort?" Hagrid gulped loudly when Harry said the dark wizard's name. Sirius didn't answer him.

          "What is it that has you so concerned, Sirius?" Hermione asked. "You must know what's coming if you can speak like that."

          "I …" Sirius paused, conflicted. "I can't tell you. Not if you're going through with this. It'll make the training less effective, and that's the worst of either option."

          "So you'll object to us doin' it at all, but you won't say why." Harry's vision clouded with anger. They hadn't made the decision lightly; he'd been spinning it around in his head over and over again since the night before. He hated putting Ron and Hermione at risk, but he knew he had to. Why didn't Sirius see that? "That's not good enough, Sirius. We're doing it. We have no choice, really."

          "I can't let you, Harry. You have to trust me. It's too dangerous. If you're father were alive…"

          "My father's not alive!" Harry shouted. "And if you'd been here instead of prison or off running around who knows where, you'd understand that I have to do this!" Hermione blanched at the hurt pain she saw in Harry's eyes. "That bastard killed him, and he keeps trying to kill me, and the only way to stop it is for me to learn how to beat the bastard at his own damn game! I don't give a shit if you don't like it. You don't have to. I'm the one doing it, and I'm not gonna stop!"

          Harry, his face red with rage, spun and stormed out of Hagrid's house. Ron took off after him, but Hermione never moved. When the boys had gone, she turned back to see Sirius looking stricken.

          "We're going to do this," she said carefully, her voice quiet as she watched Sirius sit down heavily in Hagrid's chair. 

          "I know. I didn't mean to light off an argument." Sirius smiled faintly to himself, a mournful grin on his suddenly tired face. "Should've known better. That was classic James right there. Always doing the right thing."

"Harry already felt badly about dragging me and Ron in, even though he didn't. He felt like it was his decision, and he wasn't sure if it was right. It's not, of course. His decision, I mean. But you touched that nerve."

"Grabbed it, more like," Sirius said. "Tell him I'm sorry?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm sure he'll come back when he's calmed down, though, and you can tell him personally. I think you'd best accept that we'll be doing it first."

          "It will be dangerous."

          "At Hogwarts? Class is always dangerous."

          Ron let Harry get a lead, then caught up with him in their dorm ten minutes later. His friend lay sprawled across his bed, his eyes bloodshot and cheeks stained with tears.

          "Harry? You okay?"

          "I yelled at Sirius." His voice was thick. "He's back to stay and the first time I see him, I yell at him. Pretty dumb."

          "Ah, pffff," Ron said with a wave of his hand. "He won't care. You were right, anyways. We made the right decision. An' I would've lost it, too, if I was you an' he brought up my dad."

          "Still dumb," Harry said wiping at his eyes.

          "Look, Harry, we talked about it yesterday. We agreed. 'Mione an' I talked it over some more last night," Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, "later on. We have to do it. You know how badly she wants to be a prefect, but this is way more important. 'Sides," he added, "I've been thinkin' auror might be the right line o' work for me, with all the flamin' experience we've got. I know you have, too."

          "You really think he won't stay mad."

          "Nah. It is the right thing, an' he knows it. He's just scared for you."

          Harry wiped the last of his tears away. "So that's where you snuck off to last night?"

          Ron's face colored. "Yeah. I thought everybody was asleep."

          "Uh uh," Harry said, a grin breaking through at his friend's embarrassment. He would have to go talk to Sirius, but deep down he knew his godfather wouldn't really be mad about the outburst.

          "Aw, you're just wishin' you'd thought of it."

          "Who says I didn't?" Ron blanched. "Ginny and I just picked tonight, is all. Can I get the Marauder's Map back from you?"

          "I shouldn't," Ron said. "It's my little sister you're sneakin' off with. Since you're upset an' all, though, I'll help. Just this once." They both laughed. "Left it in my robe. Hol' on."

          He went to his laundry bin and started rooting through the robe he had worn the previous day. The right-hand pocket had a piece of parchment in it, which he pulled out.

          "This could be … huh? What's this?"

          "What's what?" Harry walked over and looked at the parchment. They both read as quickly as they could.

_Potter, Weasley, and Granger,_

_          Lucius Malfoy personally wants to hand Voldemort your heads on a platter. Internal Death Eater politics at work. Much as it pains me, we can't allow that. We need to meet. Same place I met Potter before the poisoning, Friday midnight._

          The note was unsigned.

          "Gotta be Malfoy," Harry said. "'Much as it pains me?' Who else would write that?"

          "Note! That's what he bleedin' meant."

          "Malfoy?"

          "Yeah. He sort of mouthed it at me today after class. He must've meant this. His father's got us in his sights. That's not good."

          "No," Harry said. "Not good at all."

          Later that night, Harry snuck out to Hagrid's hut on his way to meet Ginny. He knocked tentatively on the door; when no one answered, he let himself in.

          "Hello? Anyone home?" His voice seemed shockingly loud in the empty room.

          "Hello, Harry," Sirius said, stepping out from the shadows and lighting a lamp on the dining table.

          "Sirius, hi." He paused, knowing what he wanted to say but not quite how to begin. "I thought you might be out on patrol."

          "Hagrid and I are switching off, and Grey takes a few."

          "Like when Spike was here?" Sirius nodded. "That's good. Have you heard from him?" Harry asked, hoping to stall.

          "Not since he left last spring."

          "So what are you doing here, if you thought I'd be out on patrol?"

"I … I didn't know if you were or not. I wanted to … apologize for this afternoon. I shouldn't have yelled like that."

          "Probably not," Sirius agreed. Seeing Harry's face fall, he continued, "you weren't in the wrong, though. I should never have said that about your father."

          Suddenly Sirius grinned, and in the torchlight years dropped away from his face.

          "The truth is, James would've done the same thing. If he were alive, he'd want to protect you, but he'd recognize that he couldn't, not anymore than anyone could've protected us dolts runnin' around with a werewolf after lights out."

          "Really?" For the first time, Harry felt some of his anxiety start to lift.

          "Definitely. You're so much like him sometimes that it's frightening," he added with a sigh. "Like today. He'd be proud of you, you know. Not just for taking up Dumbledore's offer, but for tellin' me where to get off, as well. He did that quite a lot."

          "So … we're alright then?"

          "Of course, Harry. There's not anything you can do that would make us not alright," Sirius assured him. "Just don't go and get yourself killed."

          "We have to do this," Harry said, even as he felt the relief wash over him.

          Sirius, his face unreadable, watched his godson for a long moment.

          "Yeah. I suppose you do." 


	12. Those Who Watch

          "So, Rupert, tell me – what exactly does your Professor propose?"

          Giles finished pouring himself two fingers of scotch and settled into the adjacent chair. Quentin Travers' office in the Watcher's Council building had its own hearth, a nest of marble currently housing a roaring fire. Night had already fallen by the time Giles arrived, and the rest of the office had been shrouded in shadow.

          "He would like to sit down with you, informally, and discuss some rather delicate matters he believes affect the Council and the Ministry. An introductory meeting, if you will."

          "I see," Travers answered, one hand stroking his short, white goatee and the other raising his own scotch to his lips. "To what end?"

          "I suspect eventually he would like to move towards a formal alliance. For now, he wants only to assure you that not all of the wizarding community feels at odds with your organization."

          "You say that as if you're not one of us."

          "To be frank, I no longer am."

          "Surely you of all people know that a destiny is not quite so easily shed, Rupert," Travers said with an amused smile. "I see nothing terribly objectionable in an introductory chat. Meeting the famous Albus Dumbledore should prove quite fascinating."

          "He's an interesting man," Giles agreed.

          The fire crackled in front of them, warming the room as they drank in silence for several minutes.

"How is your Slayer, Rupert?"

          "She's well," he responded tersely. Travers could feel him bridle at the question.

          "No need to put your guard up; we have learned our lesson with her quite well. Your part-time capacity is sufficient to meet her needs." He inhaled some more scotch and settled deeper in the chair. "We do have some concerns, however."

          "Of course you do." An ironic half-smile graced his face. "I can assure you that she is doing quite well, and that you need not interfere…"

          "Specifically, with her new companions."

          "But you will anyway," he finished, "so why bother? By companions, I assume you mean the young wizards we assigned to aid her."

          "Indeed. Our reports suggest that they are somewhat … less than reliable."

          "They are most certainly not. If they were, however, what concern would that be of yours? Buffy has operated independent of your oversight since my retirement."

          "The Council's job is to fight evil, Rupert. The Slayer is, and always has been, the instrument of that fight, and it appears to us that the fight is nearing a turn for the worse. Whether Miss Summers chooses to work with us or apart from us, our fight is the same and we expect the Slayer to carry out her duties. We would not like her hindered in any way."

          His speech about their concern for the Slayer's welfare, which Giles didn't believe for a second, did not distract Giles from the important part of the sentence.

"Turn for the worse?"

          Travers leaned in, his grandfatherly countenance belied by the rapacious sweep of his gaze. "We know about the return of Lord Voldemort, and I am well aware that his presence has forced the abrupt attitude shift of your wizard employers."

          "I had no doubt that you knew of it, truthfully, but I think Dumbledore has been more inclined to repair relations with you than the Ministry of Magic for some time."

          "That may be the case. Regardless, we know several things that you do not, all of them disturbing. They collectively indicate that trouble is on the horizon."

          "Such as?"

          Travers reached beneath his vest and removed a manila folder. "Before I hand you this, I must have certain guarantees." 

          "Such as?"

"First, that this information will spread no further than you and Albus Dumbledore. He is well known to us, and though I might dislike the wizards in general, I know the man can be trusted."

          "That should not be a problem."

          "Second, that you will not yet reveal to Buffy Summers what I am about to show you."

          "I can't promise that."

          Travers pulled the folder back. "Than you had best be on your way."

          Giles pondered it for a moment. "Keeping in mind that I trust you about as far as I could throw this building … will this information harm her if she does not have it?"

          "At the moment, no. However," Travers added, "should circumstances change, we would release you to inform her."

          "And if they change before you notice?"

          "We are not your enemy, nor are we hers, Rupert. We do not want her injured." The next sentence came grudgingly. "It seems unlikely that the Slayer who followed her would be better suited to deal with the current crisis."

          "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear that you have such confidence in her," Giles said, sipping his drink as he let the sarcasm sink in. "Perhaps we can compromise. You tell me what you know, and I will tell Buffy at the time I think it appropriate, but not immediately. If you did not want me to know it, or Dumbledore to know it, you would not have brought it up at all. That is my condition; take it or leave it."

          Travers regarded him carefully, then handed the folder to him. 

"Very well. Let me suggest you skip the written briefing and turn directly to the photos in the rear."

Giles flipped past the cover memo and nearly spilled his drink.

"This is a recent photo," he said. The girl in the center of the picture wore a familiar pair of jeans and a dark denim jacket over a white tank top. Her face had creases that Giles didn't remember, but she was easily recognizable.

          "Taken two days ago in Los Angeles. As you can see, Faith is very much free."

          "How?"

          "The parole board felt that it was time for her release," Travers said with a smug grin. "We had some difficulty with her on the inside, so we had her released."

          "Difficulty? What … you tried to kill her?"

          "She is the Slayer, Giles. We believed that she needed to be eliminated and a new one called. One with less … problems."

          "You bastard," he spat. "The girl needs help!"

          "Which, I assure you, she is now getting, courtesy of a former friend of yours."

          "Los Angeles … she's with Angel?"

          "Yes, quite. We decided, therefore, that an experienced, recovering Slayer would be preferable to a brand new one."

          Giles had heard enough. He dropped the folder and started shouting as he came to his feet. "You pillock! You can't move these girls around like chips on the bloody poker table! Thinking like that drove Faith away in the first place!"

          "We do what is necessary to win our battle, Rupert. You used to understand that."

          "Yes, well, somewhere along the way I remembered that the cost of that should not be my humanity."

          He spun dramatically and headed for the door. Travers' voice stopped him.

          "You should hear the rest. Faith's return is not the only piece of information in that folder."

          Cursing himself for not realizing the obvious, Giles halted and turned. "What else?"

          "Do you recall anything from your studies about the Cadre Caelestis?"

          "Cadre Caelestis," Giles searched his memory. "It's a bastardization of 'Heaven's Fallen' and I think … yes, I remember now. Cadre Caelestis is another name for the angels who fell from Heaven with Lucifer."

          "Very good. That Oxford education never fails." Travers reached down and retrieved a second photo from the dropped folder. He held it out for Giles, who walked back and took it.

          The picture showed Buffy dancing in the Bronze with a blonde-haired man. She appeared positively enraptured by him. Giles kept his expression neutral, carefully avoiding any hint that he had already heard about the blonde man from the Slayer.

          "And?"

          "We believe that the man in the picture is one of them."

          "This man?" He pointed to Buffy's dancing partner. "A member of the Cadre Caelestis? That's not possible. As I recall, they can't roam the Earth."

          "Normally, that's true, as far as we know. We aren't even certain that the man is anything other than he appears to be."

          "But?"

          Travers frowned. "After dancing with the Slayer, he turned and walked away, much as you just did. She made an effort to grab him, but he moved too quickly. Our agent found that a bit suspicious, and trailed him out of the club."

          Giles knew that, but nodded for Travers to continue.

          "He saw the man speak with a 'brown ball of fur with a green beak and enormous wings,' before both of them vanished into thin air."

          "A brown ball of fur, he said? You think it might have been a Shallebite?"

          "We do. You understand why we would not tell the Slayer."

          "Yes, yes, of course," Giles agreed. He understood the consequences of that. "Why tell me?"

          "We believe that your library at the Hogwarts School might contain some useful information that we do not possess."

          "It may indeed." He met Travers' eyes over the back of the vacant chair, thinking about the phone call he had received from Buffy and the oral description given by Willow and Grey. The blonde man clearly had focused on Buffy. If he was something other than human, and Buffy had felt some sort of pull from him … 

"I'll see what I can dig up."


	13. Big City Nights I: Seek and Ye Shall Fin...

          The stick smacked the cue ball dead center, driving it across the table to graze the left side of the eight ball. The black sphere tumbled into the right corner, and Spike took another pull on his beer as he listened to the satisfying thump of it landing in the pocket.

          "That's four in a row, Peaches. Care to make it five? Or will you not be able to afford that hair gel you love so much?"

          Angel tossed two twenties into the center of the table. "Always hated that game."

          "Aw, come off it. You used to love to play. Remember that gasthaus in Munich with the midget accordion player? We took six months pay off those blokes in two hours."

          "I don't think about that stuff anymore, Spike."

          "Sure ya do," the blonde vampire said. "Jus' don't think it was fun."

          Angel glared at him.

          "Okay, I admit, snackin' on 'em afterwards might not be funny to ya anymore. Me neither, really, 'cause I got the worst hangover from it, but the billiards was good fun. Ya know it was."

          "Alright," Angel conceded, "the billiards was good fun. I didn't play much in the twentieth century."

          "An' it shows." He lit a cigarette. "So if we're done playin', when's this guy gonna put in an appearance?"

          "I don't know, Spike. This is his favorite bar. He's here every night, sitting in the back there. He'll show."

          'The back' consisted of a row of worn booths with wooden tables and red vinyl benches. The countertops were all marred by years of carved initials. The bar itself had the small, dingy feel of a neighborhood pub gone to seed; the patrons were a mix of demons and adventurous humans and the atmosphere reminded Spike of Willy's.

          "An' the others are off making contacts, right?"

          "Yeah. Gunn's checking in with his old crew, they do a lot of vampire business and keep good tabs on the big ones. Faith is with Wesley's guys doing the same. Lorne, Fred, and Cordy are working the phones with friends and clients."

          "Sounds like you're all over town."

          "We know how to do this, Spike." Neither of them commented on Angel's massive effort on his behalf, mostly because they knew the effort was really on Buffy's behalf. Spike appreciated it nonetheless.

          "But do ya know how to do it faster?"

          "Haven't you heard?" Angel picked his cue up from the table and started to rack the balls again. "Slow is much more satisfying."

          The last of the gang had the usual forehead ridges and wore a long-sleeved green t-shirt over his parachute pants. He obviously had some training from back when he had been alive. He and Faith had been trading blows for thirty seconds when his right fist snapped out and caught her on the chin with a glancing blow. She ducked under the follow-up left and rolled a barrage of punches into his soft midsection. The vampire grunted and folded over with pain; in one swift motion she pulled a stake and pierced its heart.

          A halo of dust drifted down over her shoulders as she popped up to a standing position. Around her, Wesley's crew finished off the last of the nest, none of which had the first clue about the Don.

          "Nine vamps, no info. This sucks."

          "I really don't think we'll find him. None of these demons are high enough on the food chain to know someone like the Don," Wesley told her as he sheathed a stake at his wrist.

          "I can't believe the guy calls himself the Don. How lame is that?"

          "Angel said it's not an organized crime reference. Apparently, this particular vampire is Spanish in origin and was once a true Don."

          "Which is what? Somebody who doesn't know where Jimmy Hoffa's buried?"

          "It's rather complicated, but essentially that's correct."

          He started to walk off, as he had every time she tried to engage him in a conversation. This time she grabbed his arm, "Hey, Wes, wait."

          When he faced her again, his rough beard hid everything but his eyes in shadow. The 007 face she remembered had disappeared, replaced by a look that was at once dark, hostile, and imposing.

          Faith knew all about dark, hostile, and imposing. She also knew why her former Watcher refused to hold a conversation with her, and she hoped she could somehow make it right.

          Starting now.

          "What is it, Faith?"

          "I can't … there's nothing that I can say to you that's gonna make the stuff I did to you not be true. Nothing. I thought about it in prison a lot. We're not talkin' happy thoughts here, either. What I did … I can't even blame it on faulty mojo or mind control or even some sorta brain freeze, y'know? I did it. Me. On purpose."

          "As I'm well aware." Her sudden confession knocked him off-kilter.

          "I have to tell you, though, that I'm wicked sorry. I'd take it back if I could, but I can't. I know you won't forgive me or nothin'. How could you? I won't ask for that. But I want you to know that I'm sorry."

          Wesley's pale eyes were suddenly unreadable. He had wondered when, or even if, Faith might apologize, and how he might respond. She had occupied his thoughts ever since she had walked through Angel's door a month before, and he had virtually disappeared from the place rather than face her. His thinking had been long, intense, and introspective to a point he rarely bothered with any longer.

          What could he say to her? Could he try and explain that he bore as much of the blame for what happened to her as she did? That he had been an idiot, completely out of touch with the reality he had plunged into, and that he desperately wished he could reverse what he had done?

          That he had gone on to do misguided things nearly as bad as her own?

          He idly fingered the faded scar under his beard, past wrongs flashing through his mind. "Faith … we make mistakes, people do. I heard Giles say that to Buffy once, though I was too much the fool to listen at the time. He's a wise man, you know, and always saw great potential in you."

          She wrinkled her nose. "Really? G-man?"

          "Yes, quite. What I am trying to say, however, is … I doubt that I can ever forgive you for what you did to me. By the same token, I've done things I can never forgive myself for, and some of them were done to you. I don't know that I can carry a grudge against you; I do know that I no longer want to. In other words … perhaps it might be best to leave the past in the past."

          It was one of the few times in her life that Faith had nothing to say. All she could do was nod and turn away, hoping to hide her nascent tears from him. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, it sparked something she never thought she would feel again.

          Hope.

          "Faith …" 

She turned back, her sharp features marred with pain. "Wes …"

          He gave her an understated grin. "Dons were basically Spanish aristocrats. I don't know about this one in particular."

          "Oh." Her face relaxed. "Well, glad we got that out in the open, huh?"

          "Six in a row, Angelus. Bloody fantastic."

          "Next round's on you," Angel said distractedly, his gaze fixed on the entrance. Four Klopek demons had just walked through the bar doors at that moment, including the one they had been looking for. Spike saw them and picked his cue stick back up, twirling it idly as he waited for his sire to make a move.

          The demon wasted no time marching up to Angel. Though they stood about the same height, the squat Klopek resembled a thick tree trunk with rough, bark-like blue skin. All three of its little piggy eyes sat in the middle of its face, above two slit-like nostrils and a mouthful of wide, flat teeth. Each of the demons wore a leather vest with a silver zipper and nothing else.

          "You me are seeking?"

          "I am," Angel said, eyeing the other three demons warily, "but it isn't about the money."

          "No?"

          "No."

          The demon raised a stumpy arm, dismissing the three foot soldiers with a wave.

          "Cor, they must weigh fifty stone apiece," Spike whispered. Angel nodded.

          "Why you me are seeking then?"

          "We're looking for a guy, a vampire that rolled into town a few months ago. Probably set up shop and started organizing things."

          "It is the Don you want, yes? You should know your friend his club the Don is at on Fridays."

          "It is the Don, and we know he's at Caritas every week. We want to brace him somewhere a little more private."

          "Help you with that I will not," the Klopek said, shaking its head. "Not here, not now, no help for you. The Don his home not a place I go. Not a good man is he to make anger with."

          "We could make you help us, mate," Spike said, brandishing the pool cue as he stepped up to the demon. "We're not so good to make anger with, either."

          Behind him the other three growled. So did Angel.

          "Back off, Spike. We're not going to threaten him."

          "What?"

          "If he won't help us, then he won't. Let's go."

          "Are you stupid, Angelus? We've been here all bleedin' night, an' now we're just gonna leave this ponce without getting' anything?"

          "Yes," his sire growled. "Now pay the bill."

          "Fuckin' poof," Spike muttered, shrugging on his duster.

          Out in the street, Spike was livid.

          "What the hell is wrong with you? He knew where the Don is, I know he did."

          "Yes. He did. But this is my town, and we do this my way, got it?"

          He had known Angel for a long time, and heard the quirk in his voice. Spike followed the elder vampire around the back of the bar before he spoke again.

          "Somethin' else is going on here, innit?"

          "You don't miss a trick, do you, Spike?"

          "Well? Care to let us in on your little Private Eye game with the Yoda-talkin' bastard?"

          "He owes me money for some work I did. I saved his life in the bargain. Klopeks are a race that always pays their debts. He said he wouldn't help us then. We'll see what happens when he gets out here."

          Sure enough, fifteen minutes later the Klopek appeared in the alley behind the bar.

          "Angel? I here am."

          Angel emerged from the shadows, his dark coat still shielding him from most of the light on the street. "So, Lathe, What's going on?"

          "This bar, it the Don's is, yeah? The bartender his man is. Crossing the Don? No one does."

          "But you know where he lives?"

          "I do." He held up a cocktail napkin between two slab-like fingers. "Dangerous, though, for me if I tell you."

          "Name the price."

          "Your services, they paid for are by this."

          "Done."

          Lathe handed across the paper; scrawled in pencil on one side was a Beverly Hills address. Without another word, he disappeared back into the bar.

          "How much'd he owe ya?"

          "A thousand."

          "Fair price. I'll pay ya back."

          "Sure you will," Angel said dismissively. He had known Spike for a long time, too. "Let's gather the others and figure out what to do."

          As they disappeared back into the street traffic, neither of them saw an enormous pair of eyes watching them from behind the cloak of an invisibility spell.


	14. Big City Nights II: Foot in the Door

          "So what's the plan? Are we gonna start beating ass, or what?"

          "You're sure that's where he lives?" Angel asked.

          "Yeah, I'm sure," Gunn said, eyeing Spike warily. "Faith and I did a sweep; vamps at the door. I don't like it. It's guarded pretty tight, and the dude's supposed to be a badass. Getting in will be ugly. 

          "Can't be runnin' scared of a few nasties."

"Oh, we've got to dust him, Goldilocks, whether we help rock the cradle of love or not. We might as well get something useful out of him first. I just think it might be a trick, that's all."

          "You're all heart, Hawk," Spike grunted. "Come on, Peaches. Let's do this already. I'm bored out of my fuckin' skull sittin' around here."

          "Don't start that Hawk shit again," Gunn warned.

          "It's not an insult, Charles," Fred said from the couch. They all looked at her. "It's not. It's from a book, and Hawk's…"

          "Listen, Red … Fred … that's enough," Spike said. He hadn't meant it as an insult, but if they were so thick that it needed to be spelled out, he didn't want to listen. "Damn, she's sorta Willow-like, though, ain't she?"

          "Just ignore him," Angel said to them. He pushed off the counter and looked around the room. Wesley, Connor, and Lorne were elsewhere, but the rest of his crew, including Faith, had arranged themselves around the Hyperion's lobby. "We'll be better off if we go in without an overt threat. He doesn't respond well to threats, but Spike might be able to buy the information off him."

          "Don't have any money."

          "He won't want money. He knows something else; that much was clear in the spring. You've told us everything he said to you?"

          "Yeah, I did. Prince of Lust, hellspawn, _Soul Man_. Why would I leave anythin' out?"

          "Hmm … because you're an idiot?" Cordelia suggested.

          "Sod off, cheerleader."

          "So what's the plan? There's a plan, right?" Faith asked.

          "Spike and I will go in together. You guys wait for us outside; if there's loud noises and screams, you come rushing in."

          "That's your brilliant plan?"

          "Listen, Spike, you asked for our help. We're still doing it my way, in case you've forgotten in the past hour."

          "You're damn unpleasant for someone who I bought all the drinks for at that hellhole tonight."

          "You bought them with my money."

          "Well, if you want to be technical, it stopped bein' yours when I kicked your ass all over the billiards table."

          "Can you guys get over yourselves for two seconds?" Cordelia stepped between them. "I think Faith has something to say."

          "Thanks, Cordy," Faith said, surprised. "Look, no offense, Angel, but your plan's a shitty one. The last time you two saw this guy, he made you duke it out in front of his whole gang. Why don't I go in with Billy Idol? I don't even know this guy, so we probably won't have to fight, y'know?"

          "I thought you didn't do plans," Angel said.

          Faith shrugged. "Walking in the front door, beating up the guys in our way. That's a plan I can vibe with. It's stupid to send the two of you in, though."

          "You know what else?"

          "What's that, Cordy?"

          "Let's say Spike's for real, and these visions are for real, right, and this Prince of Lust guy needs to be killed by a vampire with a soul who loves Buffy. Sending the two of you anywhere together just screams bad move."

          "Score one for the cheerleader."

          "Oh, thanks, Spike. Your approval goes right to the top of my cherished possessions list."

          "You're right, though" Angel agreed after a moment of thought. "Okay, Faith goes in with Spike. When Wesley gets back, we'll take his crew and set up around the outside of this mansion." He looked at Gunn. "Do we need more help? We could try and track down Connor."

          A pair of fingers snapped behind Angel. The vampire whipped around, his fists coming up in a combat position, to face the beast that appeared in front of him.

          The beast saw his fists and started backing up.

          "Perhaps … perhaps I'se can help, sir," it said in its scratchy voice. "I has helped Mr. Spike before. Please don't hurt me, sir."

          "Dobby?" Spike said. "What the hell're you doing here?"

          "This is the place?"

          "Looks that way," Spike told her.

          "Dusted a vamp in Weston at a place like this once." Faith almost whistled in admiration. The Beverly Hills mansion in front of them looked just like any other: large and expensive. From their spot across the street, she could see two separate patrols of guards, all of them vampires wearing their human faces. "How do you want to do it?"

          "We could beat the snot out o' the lot of 'em," Spike suggested.

          "I don't think the King of Brood would like that."

          "I don't take orders from that nancy-boy. From what I've heard, I'm surprised you do."

          "Yeah, well, whatever." She looked away, the streetlights glinting off her dark hair.

          When she didn't say anything else, Spike turned to Dobby. "Dumbledore said you had to listen to me, right?"

          Dobby's almond-shaped head bobbed up and down. "Yes, Dobby is supposed to listen to Mister Spike, and help Mister Spike with his magic."

          "Well, don't do any magic until I tell you. An' quit that Mister Spike shit."

          "Yes, Mister Spike."

          Spike groaned, but didn't bother repeating himself. "C'mon. I'm bored."

          He busted through the hedge line and strode across the street, Faith next to him and Dobby trailing behind. Without pretense, he walked up and banged on the gates of the mansion.

          "Hey! Hey! We're here to see the bloody Don!"

          In five seconds, six vampires made it to the gate. Each one had the expensive suit, bulging muscle look of pure thugs.

          "The Don doesn't see visitors."

          "He'll see me. Tell him William the Bloody's here to make a purchase."

          "No," the lead vampire said smugly.

          Spike shrugged, took a half-step back, and punched the vampire in the chest through the wrought-iron bars. As the dust floated to the ground, Spike pulled the stake out of the wrist sheath and waved it menacingly. The other vampires stood with their mouths hanging open.

          "Simple enough," Spike said. "Now, tell the Don I'm here, and no one else will have to be swept up."

          One of the vampires reached up and tripped the lock; two others shoved the gates apart, and they charged Spike and Faith.

          Spike caught the first one with one of his trademark looping punches, busting open the vampire's nose and spraying blood all over its suit. Next to him, Faith let loose a backfist on a second vampire, snapping its head back. She followed up with a kick to the groin, then swiftly staked both her vamp and Spike's. The three remaining vampires backed up several feet.

          "She's a Slayer," one of them said.

          Faith smiled sweetly. "Yeah. She is. Sucks for you, huh?" She hurled her stake into its chest, the force embedding it three inches deep in its dead heart. "Next?"

          The last two vampires beat a hasty retreat towards the door; the three visitors sauntered up the lengthy driveway, watching them run. When it appeared they would reach the house first, Dobby spoke up.

          "Can Dobby use his magic now, Mister Spike?"

          He looked at Faith, who shrugged. She hadn't yet gotten over the sight of an actual honest-to-god elf tagging along with them.

          "Go for it, then," Spike said. To Faith, he added, "Angelus'll be steamed. That's almost worth it by itself."

          Dobby waved his hands and the two vampires halted instantly. He stretched out his long fingers and curled them back in. The vampires skimmed over the ground, rapidly returning to Faith and Spike's grasp. They each took one by the scruff of the neck.

          "Don't mind us." Spike staked his.

          "We'll just be in," Faith staked hers, "and out." She looked at Spike and grinned. "Damn, I missed that."

          "No violence in the pokey?"

          "Lots, but without the penetration, it just ain't satisfying."

          A genuine laugh rolled out of Spike's lungs, his first one in months. "That's not bad, Slayer. Not bad at all. What say we go inside an' get us a bit more before bed?"


	15. Big City Nights III: The Price of Succes...

          Two more vampires met them at the mansion door, both with palms raised in an obviously non-confrontational gesture.

          "William the Bloody?" One of them asked. He wore a white vest over a black dress shirt and slacks, the kind of neat outfit Spike expected from the Don's men.

          "What of it?"

          "Come in. You're expected."

          "Coulda fooled me," Faith said.

          "Slayer," the vampire hissed angrily, "you're expected, too, but raise a hand in this house and you'll be an empty husk of dead flesh."

          "Bit o' the theatrical in you, eh, mate? You don't hurt us, we won't hurt you. That's what the Don wants, innit?" Spike casually lit a cigarette; the vampire nodded. "Good. Now that we're all friends and whatnot, take us to him."

          The whole mansion had been furnished in light, airy colors, completely at odds with the fact that sunlight never touched the inside. Spike and Faith followed the minions through a marble entryway, down a long corridor with closed doors on both sides, and through an open doorway into an inner courtyard. An elaborate arrangement of outdoor tables and chairs congregated around a raised platform; the whole space was shaded from direct light with an elaborate canopy of overhanging trees and scaffolding.

          "Impressive," Spike said under his breath. "Bastard always liked to act human."

          "You know this clown?" Faith asked. She had heard about his last visit with Angel, but nothing else.

          "From way back. Long story – Angel can tell it better, since he was the one who almost got our asses barbecued."

          The minion left them once they stood in front of the platform. The Don, dressed casually in a polo shirt and slacks, sipped at a glass of brown liquid as he watched the three visitors. Dobby, terrified by the number of vampires and even more by the horned vampire in front of him, cowered behind Spike.

          "William. So nice to see you again. Who is your lovely companion?"

          Faith glared at him. "I'm Faith."

          "Aah, the Slayer with the naughty streak. I've heard of you. It was my understanding that you were in prison."

          "Well, I'm not. Work-release, y'know?" She drew her stake. Spike put a restraining hand on her arm, but the Don chuckled.

          "She's lively, isn't she? I like that."

          "Don't mess with him, Slayer. I need him."

          The Don's eyebrows rose. "So, finally decided to take me up on my offer, have you? Couldn't find that soul in Africa?"

          "No."

          "Of course not. Pretty absurd, spending three months chasing a myth, William. Wasting all that time when you could have come straight here."

          "I was hopin' for a better deal."

          "You think I'd gouge you? I'm offended. He's very presumptuous, isn't he my dear?" He said to Faith. She shrugged warily; she had never met a vampire who talked quite like this. "Would either of you care for something to drink while we talk?" He gestured with his glass. "It's single malt."

          "Let's cut the bullshit for a minute. You know why I'm here. Tell me what I need to know."

          "Sorry, William, that I can not do. What I can do is name the price, and point you on the way to paying it. I'm afraid it will be rather high, unfortunately, though not unreasonable. A soul without strings attached is a rare thing. You could always try one of those Gypsy curses, of course, but I'm told they have unpleasant side effects."

          "We could carve on him until he tells us," Faith suggested. Behind her, Dobby gulped audibly.

          Spike didn't answer right away. They could kidnap him and try that, but odds were that he could fool them. If they then staked him and found out he had lied, Spike would have no options. If they left him alive, he would hunt them down viciously.

          "No, we can't," he said finally. "He's got the cards. If I pay up, he'll be straight with me. That's what I need most."

          "A wise decision, William," the Don flashed a deadly smile, "since the second you approached me you would be shot down like dogs. Before we begin, you should know that we have evidence that the Slayer," he paused, glancing at Faith, "your Slayer, is in danger from this Prince of Lust already."

          "Evidence? What bloody evidence are you talking about?"

          "As a show of good faith, no pun intended I assure you, I will share that with you." He turned and spoke to a minion somewhere inside the house, "Bring me Cass, will you?" To Spike, he continued, "You remember Cass, don't you?"

          "His seer," Spike told Faith. She nodded. "Yeah, I remember. So?"

          "She had a most interesting vision. Do you perchance know Yeats' _Second Coming_?"

          Carefully not looking at Faith, Spike nodded. "Heard him read it once."

          "You'll recall that she expresses her visions through the words of others?"

          "Yeah. Which part did she point to?"

          "The second verse."

          "The whole bloody thing?" Spike's eyes were wide with shock. If that poem was now a prophecy … "The end, that's what makes you think Buffy's in danger. Lion body with the head of a man an' all that? The rough beast whose hour's come 'round at last?"

          "And he can quote it, as well," the Don said to Faith. "William's just full of surprises, isn't he?"

          "Looks like he is," Faith said, her gaze fixed on Spike.

          "When did she say that?"

          "Two days ago, and then … ah, here she is now. Come, my dear." The Don extended his hand and the dark-haired vampiress approached the platform. At well over six feet, she dwarfed them all, an Amazon vision in black leather. Her eyes stared past the Don, empty orbs that might have been carved from wax. Spike knew she could not speak or write, and was probably the closest thing to a catatonic he had ever seen in a vampire. "Now, shall we discuss the price of my information? It's possible you may already be able to pay it, but we need Cass to verify that."

          "Tell me what it is."

          "Certainly. First, a bit of background: several months ago, before you and Angel visited, Cass had a vision regarding me. While you need not know the specifics, in broad terms it appears that I am in peril, so to speak. To prevent my imminent demise, I require a protection spell of immense power. I need you to fetch me an ingredient for that spell."

          "Me? Why not have a lackey do it?"

          His lips curled up in a smile without warmth. "Simply put, they do not have access to your resources, and the nature of the ingredient is a bit tricky. You're the man to find it for me, I believe."

          "So first I come to get somethin' for a spell, an' now I have to go get somethin' for another one?"

          "Yes. Apropos, is it not?"

          "What is it?"

          "I require a vial of blood from," his tone changed, and Spike could hear the capital letters on the words, "The True Chosen One."

          "Buffy?"

          "Sadly, no," the Don said with a shake of his head. "We delved further, and it seems the prophecy is more complicated than that. This true chosen one, according to Cass' vision, is also 'the ally of my ally and the enemy of my enemy.' We know that you are the ally; I have suspicions about the enemy, but it won't help. He's everyone's enemy, so it will not narrow the field any."

          "Who?"

          The Don pondered thought about whether to tell him, but decided it could only hasten the search. "Do you know of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort?"

          "Bloody hell," Spike said. "We had the bastard at the point of a sword last spring."

          "You what?"

          "What did he say after you explained?" Angel asked. Spike and the Angel Investigations group were gathered in the Hyperion Lobby.

          "Once he stopped ranting about your incompetence. He asked Faith if Cass could read her, to see if it was her blood, which it wasn't. I wouldn't go asking him for any favors for a bit, by the way. He seemed a tad honked off about you letting Voldemort get away."

          "Guess I'm not the chosen Chosen one, you know? As usual," she added with only a trace of bitterness. She stood by the door, watching the blurred reflection of halogen lights speed by outside the hotel.

          "Hey, Slayer, you were chosen enough that we kicked vampire ass out on the street. That's good enough for me."

          "Oh, thanks, blondie. That'll help me sleep at night."

          "So what now?" Angel asked, steering the conversation back on track.

          "I'm off to Sunnyhell," Spike said. "Buffy's in trouble, and the nibblet can help me research this true chosen one."

          "What will you say about why you're there?" Wesley asked.

          Spike shrugged. "I'll tell her I'm doin' research for Peaches, an' I wanted to stop in. Shouldn't take too long."

          "And if the answer isn't there?"

          "Then I guess I'll drop in on Dumbledore, see if he knows who I'm lookin' for."

          "I can't leave here," Angel said. "You'd have to go on without my help."

          "You found the Don an' watched my back with 'im, Peaches. Even if he didn't see you, I knew it." His eyes met his sire's, the look more meaningful than any of the words. "That's more help than I thought you'd give. I can do the rest on my own."

          Angel watched him for a minute more. The vampire in front of him was hardly the one he knew from days past. If he ever got past being so obnoxious, Angel thought he might even like him. 

          That realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

"You're welcome here, if … things don't happen."

          Stunned, Spike said nothing; he simply nodded.

          "Dobby will go with you to this Sunnyhell, Mister Spike," the elf said from the couch. He and Fred were perched together on the couch, each eating a bowl of ice cream. The sight was so incongruous that Spike had decided to ignore it rather than try and process it. The L.A. version of Red seemed taken with the tiny elf, and he with her. "Dobby does not like the sound of it, but I'se will help. Professor Dumbledore wants Dobby to help, sir."

          "Thanks, Dobby," Spike said. "It's not the nicest place, but you'll be safe, if that's what's got your knickers in a twist." Dobby nodded vigorously.

          "I'm in," Faith said from the window. 

          "Are you certain, Faith?" They were the first words Wesley had spoken to her since their talk. "It will be difficult, and you have been out of the game for some time."

          "Lookin' to keep me here, Wes? Color me wicked surprised."

          Wesley narrowed his eyes. "I am merely pointing out that there will be considerable risk in returning to combat. It would be … unfortunate if the stress were to prove too much."

          "Hey, sitting around here staring at the walls is fun and all, but I'm a Slayer. Maybe not the Slayer, but even the bargain basement version can do some good."

          Angel started to protest, but she stopped him short. "You guys have your shit together here. You need me like I need one of these creepy little elves." Dobby frowned. "If I could … I'd like to help B, y'know? If she's in love with the bleached wonder over there, helping get them together … it's the best thing I could do for her."

          "She won't accept you," Angel said, shaking his head. "No matter what you do."

          "She doesn't have to. I'm doing this for her whether she wants me to or not."


	16. The Substitutes

          Professor McGonagall read the nervousness in the pink flush of Ginny's skin and a wave of sympathy passed through her. She motioned to the chair in front of her desk.

          "Sit down, please, Ginny. There's nothing to worry about, dear. I promise."

          Ginny nodded, glancing around the empty classroom. McGonagall had never called her in for a private conference before. Neither McGonagall's mollifying statement nor the knowledge that she had done nothing wrong reduced her anxiety at all.

          McGonagall watched her student seriously across the desk, suppressing a smile. Through the reading glasses perched on her nose, she took one last sweep over Ginny's transcript.

          "You've done quite well since you've arrived, haven't you?"

          "Y-yes, Professor. At least, my mum thinks so," Ginny added. "I've done my best."

          "Your best has been quite exemplary," she said, finally loosing a pinched smile. "I imagine your mother is quite vocal when she thinks her children aren't performing well."

          "That's the truth." Ron had gotten an earful this summer about his O.W.L.'s, and Ginny didn't want to be in his shoes next year.

          "And from what I understand, you and Mr. Potter are quite the couple."

          The tips of Ginny's ears blushed pink. "Umm … I … We're friends," she said carefully, embarrassed. McGonagall reached across the table to offer a reassuring pat.

          "Don't worry, my dear. Your social life is your business, and besides, I think Harry is a fine young man. I only bring it up because you must bear it in mind while I explain why I called you in here. As you may have noticed," she continued, "Gryffindor is currently one prefect short of a full complement."

          "I noticed. I figured Hermione was it an' she wasn't saying anything," which had offended Ginny greatly. She and Hermione had grown much closer during the past year, and she had assumed they would continue to share their secrets. For the past few days, though, the feeling that Hermione, Ron, and Harry were hiding something wouldn't go away. Hermione had been so upset in Diagon Alley and on the Hogwarts Express, but then suddenly calm and collected again with no explanation given. Something had to be going on, and being cut out of the loop really bothered her.

          "Miss Granger is an excellent student, and a good candidate in a normal year. She and I have spoken about this already; Professor Dumbledore and I feel that we do not want to repeat the error of having too many prefects in one year. That course of action led us to our current predicament: all of them graduated, and no experienced prefects remain. We have already selected Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil from among the sixth-years, and none of the seventh-year candidates were a very good fit."

          _That's easy to see_, Ginny thought. _All they do is keep to themselves anyway. No one ever sees them_. The explanation made sense, though she had a hard time picturing Dean and Parvati as better candidates than Hermione. She nodded her agreement anyway.

          "As a result, the remaining two prefects will come from your year. I'm sure you know that Colin Creevey is one of them."

          "He told me when we were in line the first night. I think he's a good choice. Everybody likes him."

          "Yes, we thought he would be an interesting fit as well." She laid the golden prefect badge in front of Ginny. "We would like you to join him. It's a large responsibility, and your duties could impact the time you can spend with …"

          "I'd love to!" Ginny interrupted excitedly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to interrupt."

          "Quite alright, my dear. I only meant to remind you that you will have less free time to spend in the company of your friends."

          _Meaning Harry_, Ginny thought. _Nice of her to consider that, at least_.

          "I couldn't say no to this, Professor. Thank you for thinkin' of me."

          "Believe me, Ginny: you've earned it."

          Harry spent the second day of classes glancing over his shoulder at his classmates. None of them seemed to act any differently, and fortunately the subject he dreaded discussing had yet to come up. He wanted to run some possible answers by Ron and get his story straight before he had to answer anyone else.

          He was also working really hard not to be disappointed that he would never be the Gryffindor captain, but he was failing miserably.

          With that thought resonating in his head, he tried to refocus on Professor Giles' lecture. For the second straight year, Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed like it would be a winner. Professor Giles was a Gryffindor favorite; Harry knew the Slytherins were less fond of him, and tended to grumble about his unfairness to them. The Gryffindors unanimously agreed, however, that any favoritism in Dark Arts had nothing on Snape, and consisted mostly of taking points away only when it was deserved.

          That was fine with them.

          "… And so," Giles said as the end of class neared, "in conclusion, our first module will be on alternative methods of casting black magic. I would like you all to pay special attention in your reading to the effect these differing methods have on the caster. Expect a short essay on that topic next week."

          In the far corner, Willow smiled as she took notes. Hermione had confirmed that the students appreciated warnings about upcoming assignments, and her superb lesson planning allowed Giles to give them a week for medium-sized ones and usually two weeks for larger assignments. He was also going to let her and Tara demonstrate alternative casting methods as part of the next section, something she desired (actually teaching would be a nice change from assisting) and dreaded (what if something went wrong?) in equal parts. It would certainly be interesting.

          Her assistant's job the year before had worked out differently than she had anticipated. She spent much of her time planning lessons and grading homework; during class, she mostly took her own set of notes while observing the response to Giles' lectures. The good news was that it was generally positive and his class was a favorite; the bad news was that it therefore was often boring. This year, though, Giles had promised more real teaching opportunities for her.

          For the time being, she resigned herself to observing, and the first thing she observed was Harry's obvious discomfort. Since it was Harry, Willow decided to do more than simply note his demeanor on her daily report to Giles. 

          "Hey, Harry," she called when the period ended, "hold up?"

          He asked Ron and Hermione to wait for him in the hall and walked over to her seat in the front.

          "Hey, Willow. You want to talk to me?"

          "Actually, I was kinda thinking you might want to talk to me. Is everything okay? You seemed distracted today."

          "I was paying attention," Harry said quickly, mentally kicking himself for being so obvious. _How're we gonna be secret if I can't even focus in class?_

          "Oh, I know," she said with a reassuring smile. "You're not in trouble or anything. You just had elsewhere face."

          "Elsewhere face?"

          "Yeah, y'know, when you're here but your mind is elsewhere?"

          He chuckled. "Oh. I s'pose I did. It's not important, though."

          "Are you sure?"

          She looked so concerned. He started talking more to alleviate that than anything else. "Yeah. I've been thinking about Quidditch, is all."

          "About not being captain?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Well, we were sorta glad you guys picked the training. I know it'll make Professor Dumbledore feel better, plus we get to teach you. That'll be neat."

          "Don't get me wrong – I don't regret the choice much, but…"

          "Being captain was really important to you, huh?" He nodded, letting his face fall into the glumness he was feeling. "That's what's not cool about being one of the good guys. Choices sometimes get made for you."

          "I know it's the right one, and I actually think it will be pretty great, but…"

          "But it doesn't make the lost opportunity any less appealing."

          "No."

          "Y'know, I never told you about the time I had a chance to bail on the whole Slayerette thingy, did I?"

          Harry stared at her, surprised. "No, never. You had a chance to get out?"

          "Yup. A big chance, actually. You grew up with muggles, so you know about college, right?" Harry nodded. "I got into a whole bunch. Oxford, Harvard, Wesleyan. Places all over America and Europe and very much not of the 'On a Hellmouth' variety."

          "Wow. I never met anyone who actually got into Oxford."

          "Giles went there, before he got into the watching."

          "Cool."

          "Yeah. So anyway, my parents, who are muggle professors, really wanted me to go away to one of these super good schools, and Buffy, Giles and Xander did too. They all wanted me to be smart, safe, productive-member-of-society Willow. They were wrong, though, 'cuz that wasn't me."

          "So you stayed?"

          "Yup. I hated missing out on all that stuff, y'know, like beans at Harvard and scones at Oxford and learning neat things that don't really matter, because I would have been happy. But I had a responsibility, too: I was Buffy's friend and a magic-wielding Slayerette to boot. If Glory had sucked the world into hell or something while I was off taking a final, it wouldn't have been a good thing." She paused, realizing that she had rambled on and Harry's wide eyes were watching her. "Did that make sense?"

          "Yeah." He smiled bravely but continued to look downtrodden.

          "But you're still bummed, huh?"

          He nodded. "It's complicated. I mean, your friends and your life were really geared to this. I know I made the right choice, and once we get into it I'll believe it, but there's more to it than just that. What happens when someone asks why I'm not the captain? Everyone knows I would've been. I have no idea what to say."

          Willow turned that over in her mind for a few seconds before an idea popped up.

A clever idea. 

A devious idea.

          A perfect idea.

          She smiled at Harry again, this one with the edge of conspiracy on it.

          "So you need an excuse, right? A believable one?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Didja ever see the movie _Good Will Hunting_?"

          "No. Dudley rented it once, but they wouldn't let me watch. Why?"

          "Oh. Too bad, because you haveta see about a girl."

          When Ginny met Harry in the dorm afterwards, she positively glowed. Ignoring her brother's presence, she ran up and hugged Harry hard, catching his lips with hers.

          "Hey, Ginny," he said when her grip loosened enough to speak. "Why're you so excited?"

          "I had to meet with McGonagall. I tol' you that, right?"

          "Uh huh. What'd she want?"

          Ginny waved Ron and Hermione over, grinning at them as she disengaged from Harry and took his hand. Her other hand, Ron noticed, was balled into a fist around something.

          "I'm glad she didn't call me in," Ron said. "Gives me the creeps when she does that."

          "Oh no, it was nothin' bad. A'course, I was kinda nervous, too," Ginny agreed. "But the news was all happy."

          "Don't hold us in suspense," Harry said. "Out with it."

          She held out her hand, palm up, and opened her fingers. The prefect badge glittered in the late afternoon sunlight, its 'P' prominent in her hand.

          "I'm the fourth prefect." Even as she said it, she remembered about Hermione and cursed herself for not being more circumspect.

          "Gin, that's …" Ron looked at Hermione, who tried in vain to keep the disappointment from her face. "… that's so great. Congratulations. Mum'll be really pleased that you're settin' a good example for me and Fred and George."

          "That's definitely great, Ginny," Harry reiterated. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, keeping his eyes on Hermione the whole time.

          Hermione felt a wave of regret pass through her, then gamely offered a smile. She was genuinely happy for the younger girl; she just wished they could have been prefects together. "Congratulations, Ginny. You deserve it."

          "Thanks, Hermione. I was really …" She was about to say how surprised she was that Hermione hadn't been picked, but Ron's sudden look cut her off, "really honored that McGonagall wanted me."

          They spent a few more minutes congratulating Ginny and talking about all of the new duties she had to assume, but the conversation was halting and awkward. Hermione finally begged off and disappeared, pleading homework as her excuse. Ron moved to follow her, but she shook him off and left the other three alone.

          "Bugger," he said softly as the door swung closed behind her.

          "I'm sorry," Ginny said, distressed. "Should I not have said anythin'? 'Cos Professor McGonagall said they had already talked, so I figured it was okay."

          "They talked," Harry said. "It's not your fault. Hermione was okay with it, mostly."

          "She's happy for you, Ginny. I know she is," Ron added.

          "It's kind of weird that they picked Dean and Parvati over Hermione."

          Harry and Ron traded a look.

          "Well," Harry began, equivocating lamely, "I guess they had a tough choice. I mean, Parvati and Dean are good students."

          Ginny gave him a queer look, but he and Ron were saved from any serious lying when a blonde head poked through the door.

          "Ron? Harry? Can I talk to you guys for a minute?"

          Both of the boys released the breaths they had been holding. Harry answered her. "Sure, Mel. Come on in."

          Sensing the talk would involve private Quidditch matters, Ginny excused herself. "I'm gonna go talk to Hermione. I don't want her feelin' bad."

          "Okay." Harry pecked her on the cheek. "See you at dinner?"

          "Yup. Bye, Ron."

          "Bye, Ginny." His sister ducked out of the room, leaving the three of them alone. He turned to the blonde. "So Mel, what's up?"

          Melissa Norton was in Ginny's class, a girl nearly as tall as Ron and Harry with the lithe build of an athlete and short, perpetually curly blonde hair. She was both very attractive and very smart, and Ron knew several boys in their year that wanted to get to know her better. She was also a Chaser on the Quidditch team and the only other player left from last year's starters.

          "So … umm … here's the thing. I talked to McGonagall today."

          "Uh huh," Harry said slowly, knowing what was coming. He had been preparing for this since they left Dumbledore's office, and he tried to focus on what Willow had said.

          "She … she wants me to be Quidditch captain."

          "I know," he said. Ron glanced at him oddly; Harry was not approaching this the way Ron thought he would. He seemed way too calm. Then again, they hadn't discussed how they would manage to conceal the fact that Harry had been offered the job. He decided to just run with whatever his friend said.

          "You do?"

          "Yeah."

          "And … you're okay with that?"

          He nodded. "It's either you or me. I'm not gonna kid you; they offered it to me."

          "You turned them down?"

          "Didn't have a choice. You know Ginny's a prefect, right?"

          "That's the rumor, yeah."

          "With her doing that, and me being Quidditch captain, we'd never get to see each other. So I said no." 

Ron did a double take. What was Harry talking about?

          "You turned down Quidditch captain for her?" Mel appraised him carefully. "Harry Potter, I had no idea you were such a romantic. That's beautiful. Insane, but beautiful."

          "I'm still playing. That's the important thing."

          "I guess," she said, clearly disagreeing. "So we're it for the team. I was thinking we should do an open tryout."

          "What about the reserves?" Ron asked.

          "A few of them might work. Most won't, and I don't know anything about the second years. Are you guys busy on Sunday?"

          "Uh uh."

          "Nope," Ron concurred, "why?"

          "Well … I'd like your help. I mean, I only played for a year, even though I was a reserve for a while. It's really your team, Harry, even if I'm the captain. I'll need your help in a big way. If you don't mind?" She said it tentatively, expecting bitterness that he couldn't be captain.

          Harry smiled broadly, excited by her unexpected offer. She was saying that, in effect, they'd be co-captains. "I'd really like that, Mel. Really."

          "Great!" She beamed. "Let's talk Friday sometime about what we want them to do. I'll put the word out that it's open to anyone."

          They discussed the tryouts for a few minutes before she left, all of them getting more and more energized for the upcoming year. When she was gone, Ron couldn't hold himself back any longer.

          "What was that crap about not enough time for Ginny? Where'd you come up with that?"

          "Willow."

          "Willow? Our Willow? Red hair, blushes a lot? Could be my older sister?"

          Harry laughed. "Yeah, Ron. Willow. She stopped me after class an' told me she was glad we accepted the offer from Dumbledore. We got to talking a little, and she suggested that should be my excuse."

          "You knew Ginny'd be a prefect?"

          "Willow told me. I didn't want to spoil the surprise or upset Hermione, so I didn't say anything. Besides, it was only today."

          "You coulda told me, though."

          "No," he replied with a laugh, "I wanted to see your face. And," he deadpanned, "it was worth it."

          "Hey! That's not fair!"

          Harry shrugged. "It was fun, though."

          Ron scowled, and Harry burst out laughing.


	17. Things Best Left Unseen

          Two days later, Harry stopped by Willow's desk again on his way out of Dark Arts.

          "I just wanted to say thank you for the other day."

          "So it worked?" He nodded. "Goody! I thought it would."

          "Yeah, it did. We've got tryouts Sunday. I'll be helping out, so it's almost the best of both worlds."

          "Definitely of the good," she affirmed with a nod. "You're all set."

          Harry leaned in, glancing furtively around to make sure no one eavesdropped. "I wanted to ask … we were all wondering, when is it going to start? The extra stuff?"

          "In a, y'know, in a while. We're still getting things together," she rushed out, fervently hoping not to give anything away. Willow knew she wasn't the best liar.

          "Oh. Well, we're ready whenever you call for us."

          She wanted to smile at his disappointment; instead she nodded and continued to pack her things. "We'll tell you when. So listen, I hate to be a jerk, but I have to run – I've got a magic lesson with Dumbledore, like, now."

          "That's okay. Go ahead." She grabbed her bag and they walked to the door. In the hallway, he added, "Willow?"

          "Yeah, Harry?"

          "Good luck with your lesson." He walked down the corridor and out of sight.

          "Thanks," she whispered when he had gone, "'cuz I really need it."

When Willow arrived at Dumbledore's office, she found Tara lingering in the hallway outside.

          "Hey, Will."

          "Tara? Why're you here? Not that I mind or anything, but I thought it was me and Professor Dumbledore today."

          "Oh, it is. He and Jess are finishing up."

          Willow caught the tension in Tara's voice and the nervous flush in her cheeks. "And you're just waitin' to walk her home, huh?"

          "Sh-she gets shaken sometimes, after she does these. I-I'm just being friendly."

          "Somebody's defensive. Maybe 'cuz … somebody's got a cru-ush." She sing-songed the last part with a smile, but then she saw Tara's eyes. "Oh! Tara! I'm sorry! I was just playing around. Please don't go being all embarrassed."

          "N-no, it's okay, really."

          "Thinking it really isn't over here." Willow put her hands on Tara's shoulders. "You do like her, don't you? I mean, I was kidding, I only half thought so, but you do."

          "K-kind of, yeah. B-b-but it doesn't m-matter. She's not into that."

          "You don't know that for sure."

          "Y-yeah, I do. She l-likes boys."

          "As if that matters when it comes to you." She flashed a reassuring smile. "Does she know?"

          "Uh uh, b-but it's not just boys." Tara didn't want to say it, but she knew Willow wouldn't let go. _Besides_, she thought, _she needs to know. "It's one b-boy."_

          Willow finally caught on. "Grey?" Tara nodded. "But they're over. She let him go."

          "N-no. He l-let her go. She wants him to be happy, but she …"

          Despite knowing how deeply Grey loved her, Willow's stomach contracted. "That's not of the good."

          "She's not going to do anything about it, Will, b-but she's really hung up."

          After that unhappy revelation, they stood in silence for a minute, both feeling confused and upset. Willow finally broke the silence.

          "I should go in now." Tara nodded. "Hey, Tara, look at me." Blue eyes met green. "We'll work it out, okay? Once she accepts that she can't have Grey, and she can't because he's very Willow-centric," which she said more for herself than Tara, "we'll get her to notice you. I promise."

          Tara nodded silently, obviously unconvinced.

          When Willow slipped through the doorway, taking care not to make a sound, she saw Dumbledore and Jess both leaning over a stone bowl on his desk.

          "Hello? Professor?" Dumbledore didn't respond. "Professor Dumbledore? Jess? Hello?" 

Neither reacted at all. Willow moved closer and peered at their faces. Both stared intently into the bowl, their expressions neutral and frozen. The bowl itself, covered in runes and markings that she didn't recognize, was filled with a strange glassy substance that seemed to be half liquid, half solid light. 

The bowl looked like a porthole on a ship; beneath the glass, she could see part of an apartment lit by flickering torchlight. Two figures flitted in and out of one corner of the image, their movements blurry and indistinct. Willow leaned in closer, careful not to disturb the other two as she tried to get a better look at the inside. She rested one hand on its edge, careful not to tip it over with her weight, and craned her neck. The new position didn't help. Turning again, she slowly moved around, dragging her hand along the edge…

          … until her finger dipped into the liquid.

Suddenly she felt herself sucked in, falling through a long, cold tunnel that raised Goosebumps on her skin. Before she could summon the appropriate level of panic, she had landed on a wooden floor.

It was, in fact, the floor of the apartment she had just been staring at.

"Huh? What the heck?"

          "Shh," someone said. "Please don't say anything, Miss Rosenberg. We're at a delicate moment." Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "You're perfectly safe."

          She didn't say anything. Instead, she followed his gaze across the apartment.

          What she saw there sucked the air from her lungs.

          Willow and Dumbledore filled the doorway to the living room of a good-sized flat. Inside the room, she saw Jess watching two other figures. One was obviously a younger version of her, with her dark hair cut much shorter and tattered robes draped across her malnourished frame. The pale skin on the duplicate looked sickly, as if she hadn't seen the sun in weeks. The contrast between them was striking, but Willow ignored it.

          On the far wall, Grey dangled from two wooden stakes. 

One ran through each shoulder, holding him upright like some grotesque painting on the wall of an abattoir. Dark magic fluttered and danced along his bare chest, carving bloody, crimson furrows in its wake. He hung listlessly, all the energy needed to scream already drained from him by the ordeal. The two versions of Jess, past and present, watched as the life seeped from him. The past version cackled with delight, moving the spells to and fro across the pale flesh and gleefully observing the muscles jumping and twitching in pain. The present version traced the cuts with her eyes, silently weeping as she watched herself torture Grey.

          The horrible image struck Willow with physical force. She dropped to her knees and retched, salty tears rolling over her cheeks and splashing on the floor as her stomach revolted. Dumbledore's soothing hand came down on her back as she shut her eyes tight.

          "Time to go," whispered Jess's soft Irish voice.

          "Give me your hand, Willow." She reached out and felt Dumbledore's leathery skin on her own. Her stomach flipped at the sensation of rising, and when she opened her eyes again, she crashed to the stone floor of Dumbledore's office.

          "I'm sorry you had to see that, Willow," Jess said above her.

          "Was … was that real?" She asked, the answer already painfully clear. Hot bile burned her throat as the image of Grey flashed before her mind's eye.

          "Yes, my dear. Quite real, I'm afraid."

          "How?"

          "This device is known as a pensieve," he pointed to the stone bowl, "and Miss O'Brien and I have been using it to help her confront some of her more … difficult moments. It holds stray thoughts, allowing you to view them as you wish."

          Willow, still kneeling on the floor in semi-shock, tried to process that and couldn't. When she tried to think, all she could see was Grey pinned to that wall. 

          Anger ripped through her, exploding up from her chest like a bolt of lightning. Willow's eyes blackened as she felt her magic erupt in her veins, the anger and pain fueling its return. She leveled her hateful gaze at Jess.

"If you hurt him ever again, we'll play that scene out the exact same way, except you'll hang in his place."

          The dark-haired sorceress gasped in horror. "What? I wouldn't … I'd never … I'd kill myself before I did that again."

          "You won't have to. I'll kill you first," she snarled. The room suddenly hummed with power.

          "Jessica, leave now," Dumbledore commanded. Jess backed away and dashed out of the room, a look of mixed pity and fear on her face; Willow rose to follow, but Dumbledore drew his wand. She caught a brief glimmer of something in his eyes and paused. The old, frail wizard suddenly loomed over her, looking neither old nor frail. "You, Miss Rosenberg, will stay."

          "Or what?"

          "Or I will make you stay." He spoke in the same grandfatherly voice he always used, but at the edge of his tone she heard the warning. She could feel his power coalesce around him, and suddenly she understood that challenging Albus Dumbledore would be a very large error.

          The realization landed on her like a bucket of ice water.

          "Oh goddess…" She collapsed to the floor. "What am I doing?"

          The wand disappeared into his robe and he dropped to one knee beside her. "You are learning, my dear."

          "You did this … on purpose? You let me see that?"

          "No. I would not have done that. That does not mean, however, that the exercise is wasted. Do you know why?"

          "Because … because it's totally obvious that I don't have total control. Except I already knew that."

          "Yes, but I'm not sure you understand it. You gave your wand to Miss Summers when you were not using it, assuming that would keep you from straying from the proper path, correct?"

          "Uh huh."

          "Did it work?"

          "N-no," her shoulders slumped, "not at all."

          "Correct. It did not, and it will not. The magic is within you, Willow. You cannot ignore it and hope that it will fade away. As you have just seen, there will be things that will always force it to the surface, no matter how hard you try and wish it gone." He stood and offered his hand, "That is why you must learn to control it, rather than rid yourself of it. Now come, let's work on your focus a bit. This is a particularly good time to do so, given how unraveled you must feel."

          She took his hand and stood up. "Okay, but Professor?"

          "Yes?"

          "Next time, could you put one of those 'Back in 5 Minutes' signs on the table? So I don't just barge in and stick my hand into that bowl?"

          Dumbledore smiled. "Certainly, my dear. Certainly."


	18. Pairs

          Jess burst out of Dumbledore's office at a run, nearly colliding with Tara as she hastened to get away.

          "J-jess," Tara said tentatively as the girl brushed by her.

          "Not now, Tara, sorry," Jess called back over her shoulder, "we'll talk later, okay?" She disappeared down the dark hallway.

          "Okay," Tara whispered. "D-don't mind me."

          "Can I help you, young lady?"

          "I need to see Grey. Is he here?"

          "Do you know the password?" The tiny knight puffed out his chest and pulled himself to his full height.

          "No, I don't know the damn password."

          "Then I suggest you depart. My lord has asked not to be disturbed."

          "Listen up, tin man. I want to speak with Grey an' I want to speak with him now. Don't make me get testy with you."

          "Now you listen here, witch," Cadogan said, his voice rising, "I am charged with MMMF …" The door swung open, cutting him off.

          "Dammit, Cadogan. How many times do you need to hear it?" Grey stopped suddenly, sensing the urgency in Jess's posture. "What's going on?"

          Jess barged past him into the room. White pages covered in his familiar scrawl were spread across the bed. She recognized the designs as potential lesson plans for the upcoming auror training. "It's Willow."

          Grey shut the door behind him. "What's Willow?"

          "I was havin' a lesson with Dumbledore, one o' my walkthroughs."

          "Are you okay?" As always after the walkthroughs, she looked tense and nervous, but Grey suspected that wasn't the whole reason this time.

          "No, but it doesn't matter. She walked in on it."

          "So what?"

          "I mean she WALKED in on it."

          Suddenly, Grey understood. "In the pensieve?"

          "Yeah." Jess bit her lower lip nervously. "I'm sorry, I had no idea it would happen."

          "What did she see?"

          "You … us. The … the wall."

          "Oh god." He paled. "Did she…"

          "She flipped out a little, but Dumbledore reined her in, I think."

          "If he hadn't, we would have heard it by now. Goddammit!" He pounded his fist on the door.

          "I cut it off as soon as I could, but … we might have a problem, her an' me. I'm not sure she won't lose it the next time she sees me. Or that she shouldn't."

          "I'll take care of that," Grey said, envisioning the unpleasant night ahead. "It's not your fault. I've told you that before. Are YOU okay?"

          "It was scary, watchin' myself do that." He crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. She automatically folded into a hug, his familiar arms wrapping the comfort around her. "I looked like I used to, y'know?"

          "The short hair. I remember."

          "D'you miss it?"

          "No." They embraced for a few long seconds, then Grey pulled away. "It's really okay, Jess. I've dealt with it. I'm not angry about it. You can let it go, too. If you're going to blame anyone, blame that bastard Voldemort. Not yourself."

          "How did you deal? How can you not hate me?"

          He looked past her, out the window. "I just did. I knew it wasn't you who did those things, and I accepted that I had to save you. And …"

          "An' what?"

          "Willow." He turned his gaze back on her. "I … she brought me back. She fixed the damage," he pointed to his heart, "in here. I never hated you, though, not even while it was going on. I was afraid for you, but I didn't hate you."

          "But you stopped loving me?"

          The question surprised him, and after a short pause his answer came out whisper quiet. "No, not really. I think … it just changed. I love you, but … not the same way. I figured I couldn't love anyone like that. I didn't want to even try. If this was a talk show, I'd say I thought I couldn't let anyone in, that something snapped inside me when you left. I thought it was gone, until…"

          "Until Willow." He nodded, and the dam in Jess's heart finally cracked open. She had known that he truly loved Willow, that he was meant to be with her, but she had never accepted it. In his words and in his voice, she finally heard what she had been denying: _Willow's the one that saved him from me_.

          "Jess? You still with me?"

          "Huh? Yeah, I'm here. Sorry."

          "It's okay." He gave her a small smile. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say stuff like that. I know it's hard for you, me and Willow."

          "You do?"

          He nodded. "I appreciate you trying not to show it, but it's me. I know every one of your facial tics, every tone of your voice, the tension in every muscle. You can't hide it."

          "You never said…"

          "I don't know what to do about it," he admitted, "so I didn't say anything."

          "Me either."

          "I miss us, too, but…"

          "Not enough."

          "It isn't like that. It's not a competition."

          "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound that way."

          Grey almost explained the difference in the two relationships, but he decided that wouldn't be fair. It wasn't, after all, a competition. He was deeply in love with Willow. Period.

          "I wish I could help, Jess. You know I'll do anything for you. I just don't know what to do."

          "I'm thinkin' maybe there's nothin', Grey. It just takes time."

          At the end of the lesson, which Dumbledore cut short because Willow could hardly focus on anything, she made straight for Grey's room. She couldn't imagine how ghastly she looked, but she needed to see him.

          "Ah, Lady Willow," Sir Cadogan said with a bow, "a great pleasure to see you again, though I must say you look a bit distressed."

          "Is Grey here?"

          "Why yes, my liege is indeed here. I believe he's with someone at the moment."

          "Who?"

          "I'm not sure, milady. A woman – she seemed quite upset when I wouldn't allow her in, and I feared I would have to give her a taste of my English steel," he raised his sword halfway out of its scabbard, "but then my lord came out and invited her in."

          "Did she … did she have dark hair?"

          "Yes, milady."

           Willow's stomach tightened. Her hand trembled as she reached out to knock; she knew the password, but busting in on them probably wasn't the best idea. It took all of her strength not to turn and run back to her room.

          The door swung open before her knuckles could land on the frame.

          Grey stepped through into the hall, his eyes full of concern. He swept her up in his arms, lifting her several inches off the floor. She clutched handfuls of his shirt, pressing the two of them together and burying her head in his neck.

          "I'm so sorry, Willow," he whispered in her ear. His voice quivered. "You never should have had to see that. I never wanted you to see that."

          "She … and you … with the stakes and the blood and the spells … goddess, Grey, it was so much worse than I ever pictured it," she sobbed into his shoulder. "The blood … there was so much blood and it ran everywhere and I thought 'goddess, he looks like a mountain with all these tiny little streams,' except then I realized it was blood and how much it had to hurt and you said she did it for hours…" Willow's words dissolved into anguished bawling. Grey held onto her, rubbing small circles on the back of her robe as she cried herself out.

          With Willow's attention diverted, Jess slipped past the couple. Her face was every bit as tear-stained and hurt as Willow's. She shot Grey a meaningful glance as she disappeared down the hallway.

          He knew what the glance meant. He had felt the change in her voice. _She's about to put me behind her, he thought with regret. He wondered how long it would be before she realized it._

          "Come on, Will," he said when she had gone, "come inside. We'll talk."

          She raised her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. "Is she … is she in there? 'Cuz, I-I don't think I'm ready to face her, y'know?"

          "She just left while you had your head on my shoulder. You can probably guess that she's not the most happy person right now, either."

          She nodded. Grey led her back into his room, removing his arms only to shut the door, and brought her to the bed. He carefully stripped off her black Hogwarts robe, revealing a tank top and jeans underneath. Then, before she could object, he scooped her up and laid her on his bed. He climbed in behind her and draped his arm across her stomach, her red hair tickling his cheeks as he pressed himself against her.

          "Feel better?"

          "Oh yeah," she said, the familiar feel of him against her soothing her pain and fear.

          Grey couldn't think of what he should say to help her, so he stuck with the simplest choice.

          "I love you, Willow. I wish you hadn't seen that."

          "I got so scared when I … saw you. It was like every nightmare I've ever had about it, except that it was in 3-D surround sound, and not the crappy speakers-on-the-tv kind either. The good kind with the tiny little speakers, y'know?"

          "I know." In spite of the grisly subject, he smiled. He loved her child-like speech.

          "I lost it a little bit when we got back."

          "Jess told me that, and that Dumbledore was handling it. She felt terribly about it. That's why she came and got me, to let me know you were gonna be not okay, and then…"

          "Then what?"

          "Well, we didn't hear explosions or anything, and she started crying and … it got kind of ugly. She's really upset. Then we heard you talking to Cadogan."

          "Yeah, taking on Dumbledore? Even black magic me knew that was a bad idea."

          "Good." He slowly dragged his fingers along her stomach, feeling her breathing and listening to the quiet thump of her heart against him. "Are you alright, though?"

          "Wigged. Big time. She was so … gleeful about it."

          "She enjoyed it, yeah." Grey could almost feel the spells raking the skin of his chest as he remembered. He pulled Willow closer, trying to drown out the phantom pain with the feeling of her heartbeat.

          "I'd never let anyone do that to you again. Not me or black magic Willow, either. We'd both not let anyone do it. Does that make sense?"

          "It does. Thank you."

          "I love you, too."

          Willow curled deeper into him. Despite the horrors of the last hour, she loved these moments: the two of them, together, not doing anything but being together. They had loads of passion between them, and she loved the other stuff they did in bed, too. The thought of those things made her tingle. What moments like these did, though, was make her warm all over, and she cherished that. 

          "I get it now," she said awhile later, when they were both firmly ensconced in the quiet snuggle.

          "Get what?"

          "Why you curled up into your shell. If Oz or Tara had done that … I think I would have totally cracked."

          "No," he shook his head, "not you. You might have wigged and fought back, but not cracked. You're stronger than you think, Willow."

          "I dunno. That was intense."

          "So are you." His fingers moved to her chin, tilting her head up to him. He captured her lips in a slow, soft, mournful kiss. "It's okay, Will. It was a long time ago, and since then I found something that made it all go away."

          "What's that?" She was a little breathless from his kiss.

          "You." He kissed her again, and breathing was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind.

          The knock at the door broke Tara's concentration. _Not that it was all that sturdy to begin with_, she thought as she grabbed her wand and closed her Potions notebook.

          "Come in." She opened the door with a wave. Jess, her face red and blotchy, stepped through tentatively.

          "Hey, Tara. Can I …" she gestured to the center of the room.

          Tara nodded. "S-sure. Of course."

          "I jus' wanted ta say that I'm sorry I blew by you in the hall back there."

          "Oh. I-it's okay, really."

          Jess took the seat across from Tara, then leaned forward towards the blonde witch. "No, it's not okay. Sure and I appreciate you bein' there for me. I just … I had ta get to Grey's an' I was kind of freaked out. I didn't mean to barrel you over that way."

          "I kn-know you didn't."

          She reached out and touched Tara's leg. Tara barely restrained her flinch; she seldom let people touch her, though with Jess it was more because she liked it a lot and didn't want the other girl to know than any other reason.

          "I mean it, though. It was rude. I'm really glad you're always waitin' for me. I need it, most times, an' especially today, if you want the truth. I jus' needed ta warn him first."

          "You need it? Are you okay?"

          "Not really, no." She said it so casually that Tara thought she was joking at first. Then she explained what had happened.

          "Oh, goddess. Is Willow…"

          "She seemed a bit looped out of it, as you'd expect. He had her in hand, though. I think she'll be fine."

          Tara nodded; Grey would take care of her. "A-and you?"

          "He helped me a bit, yeah." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I can't believe he doesn't hate me. Those things … seeing 'em again … I'm here livin' the life o' Reilly an' I did that to him…" She buried her face in her hands and finally broke down completely. Tara could see the tears running down her palms and over her forearms as Jess collapsed out of the chair and onto the ground.

          Without even thinking, Tara slipped out of her chair and knelt on the floor beside her. She took Jess in her arms, gently rocking her as she whispered into the weeping girl's ear.

          "Shhh, sweetie. Shhh. It's okay. It's okay."

          Jess tensed at Tara's touch, then gave in and let the blonde girl hold her as her pain poured out in a flood of hot tears. Jess's arms went around Tara, and they spent several long minutes on the floor like that, Tara's calm voice and soft touch soothing her.

          When her tears were almost spent, Jess pulled away from Tara's embrace. Her tears had soaked Tara's robe.

          "Sorry 'bout that," Jess said, her left hand brushing at the tear tracks. "I don't break down, usually."

          "I-it's okay. I understand."

          "He's not gonna leave her for me, is he."

          Tara looked at the floor, but didn't say anything.

          "That wasn't a question, Tara. I know he won't. I realized it when I went to his room." A lone tear cascaded down her cheeks. "She saved him from what I did. From me. She deserves him."

          Tara reached up, her hand shaking slightly, and wiped the tear from Jess's face.

          "She does, but not because you don't. Willow's a-an amazing person, but s-so are you. Y-you d-deserve the same happiness with s-someone, even though it w-won't be Grey."

          The room suddenly got very still. Jess could feel Tara's warm thigh up against her own and her right hand resting on Tara's back. The cavernous suite was silent and empty except for the two of them. Their faces were six inches apart, and Tara could smell the hint of vanilla floating up from Jess's skin. 

The slightest move forward and they would be kissing.

          Before Tara could work up the courage to lean in, Jess blinked. She shot off the floor, confusion gripping her mind and a familiar tension gripping her chest. Her head was suddenly awhirl.

          "I … Tara … I need to go. Really."

          "Y-you don't have to. If y-you need to talk more or …"

          "No, no, really. I need to … I have to, to think a little. Alone. I need to go."

          Without a backwards glance, Jess bolted for the door. Before it even closed behind her, Tara started to cry.


	19. Lesson the First

Combinations flew as the two men in dark clothes danced back and forth on the moonlit roof, each huffing and puffing from the extended effort. Finally the bald man threw a powerful right jab; his opponent slipped it with ease and landed a left to his chin. The bald man's head snapped back, and he called a halt.

          "That was legit, and there was something behind it. Pretty good," Grey said with a smile, leading Neville over to their gear. "Let's call it there."

          "Okay," he agreed, sweating and breathing heavily.

          Grey pulled a towel out of his bag and tossed it to Neville. 

          "Here. Time you had your own."

The Gryffindor caught it and smiled as he looked it over. A yellow lion had been knitted into the dark red cotton, the amateur artistry removing some of its fierceness. He was touched nonetheless.

          "Thanks, Grey. You didn't have to do this."

          "It's okay. I didn't; Tara did. You can thank her later. As for the rest, well, I think you've come far enough that you rate your own towel."

          Neville chuckled, feeling as good as he ever had. He had practiced harder at his martial arts over the summer than he had at anything in his life. The first night of training went spectacularly well, as evidenced by his success at the end. His improved skill drew effusive praise from Grey, and more than that, he no longer worried that he might be embarrassing himself by taking this up. That feeling, he figured, was more a remnant of the battle with Voldemort's army than anything, but it was still nice.

          "I hate to be a jerk," Grey said, breaking his reverie, "but we're stopping early tonight, and you have to get back to bed."

          "O-okay," Neville replied, taken aback. Grey answered with a reassuring smile.

          "It's not you, Neville. We're testing my lightsaber and Dumbledore said I had to get you off the roof and back to safety for that.

          "Oh, I see." His cheeks colored at Grey's easy read of his thoughts. "I guess I'll be off, then. Thanks again." He gathered his things and wiped his face with the towel.

          "No problem." Grey's smile widened. "And Neville?"

          "Yeah?"

          "You're doing great. Better than I expected, and I expected a lot."

          "Thanks." His grin lit up his face all the way to bed.

          Three hours later, in the dead of night, Jess, Willow and Tara met Grey and Giles on the roof. Fall was coming, but it hadn't arrived yet; the clear night air was warm, and they had all traded in robes for workout clothes.

          Giles could feel the tension between the four younger people. He had anticipated some, but he found the reality of it surprisingly thick.

They had planned to meet several times during the past few days to discuss this, but the meetings had all been cancelled. Grey explained to him that the dynamic would probably be a little off for a few weeks, but hadn't said why, though Giles had his suspicions. He understood that Willow and Jess were avoiding one another, having heard all about the magic lesson gone awry. He had no idea, however, why the sorceress and Tara, who were normally inseparable, seemed to run in opposite directions whenever they glimpsed each other.

          "This is gonna be so neat!" Anticipation had Willow a little giddy, despite the ugly episode several days before, and she let it out excessively in a wasted effort to overcome the tension.

          "W-we need to be a little careful th-that we don't wake anybody up."

          "Or fry anybody," Jess added, though she didn't look at Tara.

          "Me included," Grey said sheepishly. "You really want to do it this way, Will?"

          The redhead nodded. "You guys had formal auror training. Trust me, for the real world kind, this is the better way. At least, it never hurt us doing the Slayerette thing." She glanced at Tara and offered a small smile, "You never know when you might have to run from some creepy floating morticians." Tara smiled back. "Besides, they've been in way bigger scrapes before. They can handle it."

          Grey and Giles looked at Jess; she nodded her approval, staring out over the edge of the roof. They hadn't made any formal agreements, but she and Willow had taken charge of planning the training regimen. Fortunately, it had been pretty much set for weeks. 

"They spend enough time in the classroom. We'll give 'em something else. Somethin' a little bit scary."

          In Harry's dream, he and Ginny whizzed through the air on parallel brooms, their hands joined, her fiery hair floating out behind her. Her head had just tipped back with laughter when Willow's voice burst in his mind, shattering the dreamscape into a thousand pieces.

          _HARRY! RON! HERMIONE!_

If it had been audible, Willow would have been shouting in his ear. He shot straight up out of bed. Across the room, Ron popped up from under the covers, mouth open and eyes wide..

          _Willow?_

_          Harry! The roof. Now. It's Grey._

          Harry felt the panic in her mind as she broke away, her concentration obviously absorbed by casting a spell. With quiet urgency he rolled out of bed, grabbing his wand from the nightstand and jamming his feet hastily into his shoes. Ron did the same and they hit the door running. Hermione joined them in the common room; when the three of them reached the hallway, they dropped the pretense of silence and took off in an all out sprint.

          Four minutes and a whirlwind dash up the stairwells later, they made it to the roof entrance; a lone figure blocked their path to the outside.

          "You! What the bloody hell are you doin' here?" Ron shouted.

          Draco Malfoy waved him down. "You want to wake up the school, Weasley? Quiet down. What do you think I'm doing here? That crazy bitch Rosenberg nearly blasted my head open. The auror's got his rage on, sounds like."

          "But why you?"

          "Do we have time for that, Ron?" Harry broke in as a spell crashed against the door and shook the hall. "We'll sort it out later. For now, let's get out there and find some cover 'til we can figure what to do. Alright?"

          The other three heads nodded.

          "We'll take the door at a run. On three. Ready?"

          "When we get through, go left," Draco added. "That's where the cover is." 

They nodded again, looking expectantly at Harry.

          "One … Two … Three!"

          As well as the lesson with Neville had gone, Grey was enjoying the opportunity to really cut loose on the roof a lot more. He hadn't truly lied about testing the lightsaber. He had just left out that it wasn't the only thing being tested. 

From the moment the first spell flew, using the sword was unlike anything he had ever done. He finally understood the difference in the living blade, understood it in a way that he was certain its creators never could. It felt like a part of him, almost an extension of his arm. Fighting with it came naturally.

          The first spell Jess cast had been the _Daggers of Diphthis_; the black blades still inspired a primal terror in him, and the sword responded to it.

          He hadn't been any more ready for the voices than he had been for the visions.

          _Daggers of Diphthis, but, duh, you know that_, Willow's voice said in his head.

          _Roll right_, Buffy's voice told him as he slashed the first energy blade. He obeyed her on instinct, the voices feeling as natural as the impulse to move. Another spell whizzed through the spot he had just occupied.

          _Jelly-legs_, the sword told him, the voices blending together with his movements as he let the flow of the battle overtake him. His eyes came up and he saw Tara clap her hands together. _Shockwave_, her voice told him as he slid out of the way. A force ripple distorted the air as it hurtled harmlessly past him. 

They didn't let up. The three witches pounded him with spell after spell, forcing him to maintain a steady rhythm of blocking and dodging until, in his peripheral vision, he saw the four kids burst through the door.

          _Showtime_, the real Willow's voice said in his head. Jess and Tara heard her as well, quickly moving into their preplanned attack positions.

          "Tara!" Jess shouted. "Bind him!"

          Tara nodded, her eyes glowing white as a dull gray sphere shot from her hands. Another spell, this one a bolt of blinding red, flew from Jess's outstretched hand at the same instant; both zipped through the air, hunting Grey like deadly falcons.

          His blade moved of its own accord, only mildly nudged by his thoughts. Instead of backing up, the former auror stepped forward and hefted the sword. Tara's binding spell closed on him and met the dazzling blue energy of his blade.

          Then he flicked his wrists.

          The four students watched in shock as Grey deflected the spell back at Tara; the blonde sorceress had no time to react. A look of surprise froze rigidly on her face as her own spell bound her fast. 

By the time they looked away from her still form, Grey had already deflected the second spell.

With a loud bang and the smell of burning ozone, Jess took the red bolt square in the chest and flew backwards towards the edge of the roof. She lay there unmoving. On the other side of the roof, Willow stalked forward to face Grey. Black energy crackled at her fingertips.

          "Cor! What the hell's goin' on?" Ron said. The four of them had dropped behind one of the roof's outcroppings to observe the action.

          "Nothing good," Malfoy replied. "I doubt he can sort out Rosenberg, though."

          The night lit up with spell flashes, a rainbow of colors spewing from Willow's hands and temporarily blinding the four students. They heard shouts from both Willow and Grey, but the multi-colored display denied them any view of the battle. 

When their vision cleared, Willow lay on the ground unconscious. Grey raised his sword triumphantly in the center of the roof.

          "So we panic now, yeah?" Ron asked.

          Harry turned to look at them, his face grimly determined. "No. We can't let him get loose, not the way he rolled over those three. Dumbledore's probably the only one with more power than them."

          "So let's retreat and get Dumbledore," Malfoy suggested.

          "No time for that. Look, there's four of us and one of him – if we can get the lightsaber away from him we'll be fine."

          "You're insane, Potter. How the hell are we going to do that?"

          "I've got an idea," Hermione broke in. "If you guys can distract him, I think Ron and I could knock him down. When he falls …"

          "Summon the lightsaber," Harry finished. Hermione nodded. "How do we distract him?"

          "Any way you can. We only need a few seconds."

          "Malfoy?"

          "Aww, fuck it. Why not?" He looked at Hermione. "If this gets bollocks'ed up, make enough noise to wake Dumbledore, huh?"

          "I'll do that."

          "Good. C'mon, Potter, let's bag us an auror."

          Harry and Draco burst from their cover, darting across the roof at full speed.

          "Hey, Grey!" Harry yelled. The auror turned to face him. "Hey! Over Here!"

          "Harry? What are you doing here?" Grey's tone carried an edge that Harry had never heard before.

          "What the hell are you doing, you idiot?" Malfoy countered, deliberately baiting him. "Beatin' up your girlfriend and her friends isn't the best way to make her put out, you know."

          "And with Malfoy? Damn, Harry. I expected you'd keep better company. Like, say, these two?" He spun around and gestured with the lightsaber to Hermione and Ron, who had crept up behind him and looked ready to cast. "Don't do anything stupid, Hermione. I'd hate to have to hurt you, too."

          Harry almost asked him what was wrong, but that could wait for later. Instead, he raised his wand, hoping to divert attention from Ron and Hermione.

          "EXPELLIARMUS!"

          Draco followed Harry's lead, loosing the same spell moments later. Grey blocked them easily, but had to turn away from Hermione and Ron to do it. They didn't waste the opportunity.

          "GLACIO!" Hermione shouted. Grey whipped back around, but the spell, a nearly transparent blue arrow of magical energy, landed ten feet in front of him.

          The roof of the building turned to ice. For a circle ten yards around Grey, not a single patch of stone could be seen. The cold seeped through his shoes and nipped at his feet.

          "Just a little short. Next time don't lift your head on the follow-through." He grinned evilly, chilling Hermione to the bone.

          "She wasn't aimin' for you, you squib bastard," Ron said, lifting his wand, "but I am. ASPIRO!"

          The whistling sound started at Ron's wand, spreading out towards Grey; the rush of air hit him in the chest like a mallet, sending him hard to the floor as he skidded along the ice. The lightsaber bounced out of his grip and shot across the frozen roof.

          "ACCIO LIGHTSABER!" Harry shouted. The hilt flew up and into his outstretched hand.

          "RESTRINGO!" Draco cast the moment the hilt left the ground. Ghostly chains spewed from his wand, rattling as they slithered across the roof and caught Grey in a death grip.

          The night was suddenly deathly silent. All four young wizards stared at Grey's inert form in; none of them had any idea what to say.

          The silence lasted nearly ten seconds, punctuated only by their heavy breathing, until the sound of clapping shattered it completely.

          The four of them turned to see Jess, Willow, Giles, and Tara unharmed and offering a rousing ovation.

          "Excellent work," Giles said. He had been hiding behind a parapet. "Most impressive."

          "Definite A's all around," Willow added with a brilliant smile.

          "Huh?"

          Tara smiled. "D-don't worry, Ron. We'll explain."

          "Hey, before you do, could somebody get me out of these?" Grey called from the floor. "It's really cold down here."

The teachers laughed; Willow gestured briefly and the chains disappeared.

          "You let him go?" Harry asked. He clutched the lightsaber tightly to his chest.

          Hermione and Draco figured it out at the same time, catching each other's eyes as they smiled.

          "You're not evil, are you Grey?" She asked.

          "Sorry, Hermione. Not this time. Maybe next year."

          "You do a hell of an evil grin," Draco told him, "an' I've seen some good ones."

          "I'll take that as a compliment, I think. Now, Harry, my lightsaber?" Tentatively, Harry held it out to him. "Thanks. Good moves, by the way. If that had been real, you would have just won. I wasn't playing around."

          "This was a test, wasn't it?" Hermione asked.

          "Yes, Hermione, it was," Giles answered, "and you passed. Now, if all of you would come over here for the moment, we have some things to discuss."

          The four students and the five teachers clustered in a circle near the center of the roof, each of their eyes full of excitement.

          "Good work," Jess said, speaking for the first time. Her voice carried a gravity unfamiliar to everyone but Grey and Tara. "Welcome to your advanced Dark Arts training. Lesson the first: Be ready. Your enemy can be anyone, at any time."

          "Don't we know it," Ron said. 

Hermione shushed him, but Jess responded anyway. "Ron's right. You do know it. You have to keep it in mind, though. Always. I'm living proof of that."

          "I think they understand, Jessica," Giles broke in. "You did do exceedingly well. We had some doubts as to how you might react. Tell me, one of you, why you did not summon Professor Dumbledore?"

          "There was no time," Harry said. "We had a plan, but if we waited Grey might have done something to someone up here already."

          "Or he might have fled altogether," Hermione added defensively.

          "Don't misunderstand, I'm not saying you should have. In fact, had you tried, you would have been quite unable to find him. You acted decisively but not rashly, and that was what we hoped for."

          "We didn't know if you'd win," Willow said, "but we wanted you to have a plan and make a decision to use it."

          "So what now? Is this what it's gonna be? Getting' woken up in the dead of night to guard people who don't need guarding?"

          "N-not exactly, Draco," Tara answered. "It's complicated. Will?"

          "Okay. We think you guys will like this, even though it's gonna be kind of hard. We're each taking a different section of your training. Normally I would've written up a syllabus and everything, but since we can't really put things down on paper for this, we'll keep it simple. Classes are two hours after dinner, four days a week. Every day you'll have a different subject with a different one of us. Mondays will be with me. We're going to learn elemental and combat magic."

          "Dueling?" Ron said hopefully.

          "Sorry, Ron," Jess answered. "Not dueling. In the real world, dueling isn't that useful because it doesn't happen that often. There are exceptions, of course; Voldemort, for instance, likes to duel a lot."

          "He does," Harry said quietly, "that's a fact."

          "Most dark wizards don't. So we're going to concentrate on other things," Willow said cheerfully, suppressing her own nervousness. "You'll have fun. Trust me."

          "Moving on," Giles prompted.

          "Tuesdays'll be with me," Jess said. "I'm more into the indirect combat spells than Willow, an' I'll be teaching you illusions, different enhancement spells, charms an' the like."

          "W-Wednesdays I'll be teaching you about other magical stuff you need to know," Tara continued. "Magical poisons, texts, scrolls, and enchanted objects, along with a little bit of defensive and h-healing magic."

          "Finally, Thursdays you will attend our portion," Giles said, gesturing to himself and Grey.

          "We'll be dealing with the non-magical training," Grey added.

          "Yes. Strategy and tactics primarily, but also research methods, investigations and the like."

          "Whoa," Draco said, slightly overwhelmed. "Weekends off, though?"

          "We understand that you must survive the rest of the curriculum, Mr. Malfoy. Besides, you all have commitments that must be kept up for appearance sake. I guarantee you that the training will be more than enough."

          "Willow, tell them about the practicals," Grey said.

          "Oh! Right! I totally forgot. Every once in awhile, we'll be testing you in real world situations, like we did tonight."

          "Unannounced?"

          "That's right, so be prepared."

          "Will they be against you guys again?"

          "Maybe." When Grey's face twisted back into his evil smile, a lump filled Harry's throat. "Then again, maybe not."


	20. Turns within Turns

          It was a chastened and inundated gang of four that watched their instructors shuffle off the roof a little while later. Though they had instructions from Giles to 'hurry off to bed,' they lingered to discuss the evening amongst themselves.

          "This is gonna be somethin'," Ron said after the professors had gone. "That felt so real."

          "Yeah. We'll have to be ready." Harry noticed Hermione staring at Draco. "Hermione? Is everything okay?"

          She didn't respond to him, speaking to Draco instead.

          "I thought you were a prefect," she said to him.

          "Of course I'm a prefect, Granger. Why wouldn't I be?"

          Tears of hurt formed in her eyes. "They said I couldn't be if we did this."

          "That's just terrible, isn't it? I guess you don't have what it takes, do you?"

          "Come off it, Malfoy. Leave her alone."

          "Hey, Weasley, it's not my fault if she can't handle a bit of extra work."

          "You bloody -!" Ron leapt at Draco, driving him to the ground. Harry wasted no time; when Ron raised his fist to smack Draco, Harry grabbed it and dragged him off the blonde boy.

          "Ron! Stop!"

          "Don't be such a prat, Weasley," Draco said, brushing stone dust from his black robe and sitting up. "I was only havin' a bit of sport with your girl."

          "I'll bust you upside the head if you don't shut up, Malfoy," Ron retorted, struggling against Harry's restraining grip.

          "Don't bother, Ron," Hermione said dejectedly. "Not worth it." She looked away, but Harry and Ron knew she was struggling to fight back tears. "If you don't mind, I'm going back to the dorm. I'll see you in the morning."

          She started for the door. Ron glared at Draco, his face reddening.

          "Aw, goddammit," Draco muttered. He hadn't meant to make her start blubbering. "Granger, wait." He took a step towards her and Ron moved to block his path, dragging Harry along, but Hermione stopped and turned. "Listen, I was just gettin' on you. I didn't mean anything by it."

          "Are you apologizing to me, Draco?"

          "Guess I bloody well am. Can't have you lot trying to kill me four nights a week, can I?"

          "We'll find out," Ron mumbled.

          "But you are a prefect, aren't you?"

          "Yeah, I am. It's different than with you, alright?" Draco's stomach turned at the thought of explaining himself to make her feel better, but he didn't have much choice. They were still allies, and they needed to know the subtext of the entire charade if they would be of any use to him at all.

          "How's that?" She came back and rejoined the group. Ron wrapped a comforting arm around her waist, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

          "My father demanded it, first off, as did Voldemort. Remember, Snape made the selections; Pansy Parkinson isn't a prefect because of her looks. She's a prefect because the Death Eaters can use her."

          "If you weren't a prefect, they would know something's up."

          "That's right, Potter. Besides, being a Slytherin prefect is simple. I don't have to do anything. We're smart enough to force the younger prefects to do the work."

          Hermione turned that over in her head. "I see. That actually makes sense strategically, as well. You have an excuse to be out at all hours."

          "I also have the power to facilitate certain nocturnal activities, if necessary. That's why I sent you the note, you stupid git," he said to Ron, who fumed silently as Draco kept speaking, "because big things are stirring under the surface."

          "Like what?"

          "A number of things." Draco looked the roof over one more time, making sure they were alone. "They don't know about the auror training yet, but they do know something's up because Granger isn't a prefect. Though I have to say, Granger, your teary act is convincing enough to be real."

          "It is real, you wanker," Ron said. "Can you lay off her, already?"

          "I'm sorry. It would be a shame if Potter had to restrain you again," Malfoy said with a tight grin. "As I was saying, that makes them suspicious." He looked at Harry. "The rumor's flying around that you turned down Quidditch captain for the Weasley girl. People think you're insane, but they believe it. I expect Voldemort will, too."

          "Good. Remind me to thank Willow again for that bit."

          "Rosenberg came up with that? Hah. Didn't know she had that in her. Well, look, here's the rest: my father wants to be Voldemort's right hand. He and Pettigrew are fightin' over it something fierce, and I think they're both gunning to be the bloke that takes down Harry Potter for him. He's got me marked to help him do it, which means we'll have to be more clever than before about covering things up."

          "We can handle that. If we know what they're gonna do, it should be alright," Harry said.

          "IF we know, than yeah, we can handle it. We have another problem, though."

          "What's that?" Ron asked.

          "Voldemort's got an agent in Gryffindor. I'm almost certain of it. I saw some reports on my father's desk this summer that had to come from inside your house. He got them from Voldemort himself, so it's probably a personal agent, like that imp last spring."

          "Great." Harry caught Ron and Hermione's eyes. "We'll have to watch everything we say." They nodded their agreement. "Any other good news?"

          "No. That's enough for now, don't you think?"

          "You called for me, master?"

          Pettigrew bowed his head as he entered, careful not to lift his gaze from the ground. Beneath the hem of his hood, he saw the polished boots of Lucius Malfoy.

          "I did, Wormtail. Lucius and I were discussing the matter of the Zombie Master. Tell me what you thought of his plan."

          Pettigrew cautiously looked up; Voldemort's red eyes bored into him from across the desk, while Malfoy's ice blue eyes seemed to sneer at him with contempt. He had a Hobson's choice in front of him. He could answer honestly and risk his master's wrath, or he could grovel and earn his certain contempt.

          "I think it could work, my lord," Pettigrew equivocated. He never knew exactly what Voldemort wanted to hear, which made choosing his words very difficult.

          "But you have some doubts, do you?"

          "I … I think it would be a long time to wait."

          Voldemort's thin lips formed a cruel smile. "I know you, Wormtail. You won't know what I am thinking until I know what you are thinking, so you had best speak your mind. You think my revenge is a trivial undertaking that distracts us from the larger goal."

          "No! My lord, I know that you desire your revenge. I-I-I…"

          "You're an imbecile, Pettigrew," Malfoy said coldly. "How do you propose we muster the zombies faster? Some sort of growth potion?"

          "Of course not, Lucius," Pettigrew snapped. He could feel Malfoy trying to drive a wedge between him and the master. "I … worry, however."

          "About?" Voldemort was vaguely amused, as he had been all summer, by watching the power struggle between his lieutenants.

          "Ch-challenging the Slayer directly, without attacking her allies."

          "You fear my plan will consist only of piecemeal attacks, and will be defeated, is that it?"

          "Y-yes, my lord. I understand your desire for revenge; it will without a doubt help our cause. B-but we need to use more force."

          Voldemort silently chuckled. His subordinates had no idea that he had already decided to authorize another attack. It pleased him, though, when they could show the proper grasp of strategy at the same time that they sniped at one another.

          "I see. Well then, tell me, Wormtail, what you make of this information," he flicked the red orbs at Malfoy, "tell him what you told me, Lucius."

          With a sneer of contempt at Pettigrew, Malfoy repeated what he had told Voldemort minutes earlier.

          "Granger and Potter aren't Gryffindor prefects?" Pettigrew's amazement brushed aside his posture of humility for a moment.

          "Nor is Potter the Quidditch Captain, the fact I find most interesting," Voldemort said.

          "How can that be, my lord? Dumbledore and his pack of fools love them, and think them capable of anything."

          "Learn that during your tenure as the inimitable Scabbers, did you?"

          Pettigrew ignored Malfoy's barb. "Do we have any idea why they were overlooked?"

          "Some notions," Voldemort announced. He knew full well that Potter had supposedly turned down Quidditch captaincy for the Weasley girl, though he did not believe it. He had an agent investigating the truth as they spoke. His gaze focused on Malfoy. "You believe your son is ready, and can be trusted?"

          "I do. He has learned the penalty for defying us."

          "If he has not," Voldemort added dismissively, "he will not have much time to contemplate it. We have others in the castle to see to that. I want you to go to Hogwarts and explain this assignment in person."

          When Voldemort had finished diagramming his plan, Malfoy and Pettigrew were both smiling. "Now, before we adjourn, I want to hear everything the two of you know about this new Deputy Head of Slytherin, this Tara Maclay that Snape reported on."

          "I spoke with Snape directly about her," Malfoy said. "He thinks her ineffectual and untalented. She came from America, where she did minor magics to help the Slayer."

          "Hmmm … indeed. Minor magics, you say? Yet didn't they send for her to help counter Precious?"

          "I b-believe so, my lord."

          "Than she is not as untalented as Snape seems to think. I recall her now – the blonde witch. She immobilized the giants with a growth spell." The crimson orbs crackled with energy as they swept his top lieutenants. "She is no doubt Dumbledore's heavy-handed answer to our influence in Slytherin house. I know Albus, though. She will be concealing a subtler ploy. We must be wary of her."

          "Sh-should we do something, master?"

          "No, Wormtail. Leave her for now. If she becomes a problem," a grin appeared on his skeletal face, "we'll simply have to kill her."


	21. Harry the General Manager

          Ron's eyebrows were stuck halfway up his forehead.

          "This is it?"

          Harry sighed, his lips curling into a small frown. "This is it. Now you know why we were so strapped for Keeper prospects last year."

          "This isn't good," Mel agreed. "At least they're all nice people."

          Ron joined Harry's frown. The three of them watched from the far end of the pitch as the prospective candidates adjusted themselves and their equipment. Fully fifteen people had turned out to audition, but none of them looked like Quidditch Cup material.

          "Hey, Potter! You guys are a shoe-in for the British Pre-school Title," Malfoy shouted from his perch on the hill near the stadium. The entire Slytherin team had turned out to watch the Gryffindors select their team.

          "Ah, man, we're gonna haveta listen to that idiot Malfoy braggin' on all year," Ron muttered.

          "Hey, how many Quidditch Cups does Malfoy have?" Mel asked, her eyes still on the prospective players. "I, for one, am not conceding any to a bastard like that without a fight."

          Harry and Ron traded a surprised look, both thinking the same thing: _Oliver used to sound like that._

          In the booth above them, McGonagall blew her whistle. Everyone on the field paused and turned their attention to her.

          "Alright, now, Gryffindors," she said over the microphone, "as you are all quite aware, today we are holding the tryout for this year's Quidditch team. We have four positions available: two chasers and two beaters. Those of you not selected will be assigned to our reserve roster." She went on to explain that Melissa and Harry would work with the prospective Chasers and Ron would be testing out the prospective Beaters, then turned the tryout over to the students.

          "Alright," Harry said, climbing onto the Firebolt, "let's do this." The other two nodded, and soon the three of them floated in midair facing the group. "Flying first?"

          Mel nodded. "Follow the leader, the leader being you, Harry."

          "Sounds good."

          "This first drill," she called to the others, "is simple. You'll queue up behind Harry, and he'll start to fly. You follow him – if you can't keep up, or you're worried you'll get smashed to bits, veer off and return to the center. Harry will keep going until he's the last one, so don't feel bad about bowing out." The prospective players slid into a line, Seamus Finnigan at the front with a broad smile on his face. She turned to Harry. "Whenever you're ready, Harry."

          Harry glanced around the stadium, mentally plotting his route. He maneuvered the broom to a stop several feet in front of Seamus.

          "Think you can keep up?" He asked the sandy-haired boy.

          Seamus smiled. "I'll stay with you, Harry. Better you worry about the little ones behind us."

          "Hang on, then."

          Harry leaned in and the Firebolt took off, cannonballing across the stadium. He knew none of them could match his speed, so he eased off a bit and curved around, leading the pack on a lazy series of loops. When he figured they were suitably lulled, he leaned back and pulled into a steep climb. As the line passed the announcer's booth, he saw a slight frown on McGonagall's face.

          The frown only got larger as he reached the peak of his climb; putting on a burst of speed, he jerked the Firebolt into a hard right turn, then angled it back down toward the pitch. He descended almost vertically, gravity lending him extra speed that his broom couldn't manage. The shouts of surprise were barely audible over the rush of the wind, and Harry didn't listen very hard.

          He was having too much fun.

          He pulled out of the sharp dive well before hitting the ground, launching into an intricate series of flips and rolls. When he finally had the chance to look back, half of the line had disappeared for the center of the ring. Seamus still had the lead behind him, but a tiny second-year girl that he didn't know had moved up into the third spot.

          "Rookies," he muttered with a smile. Harry zoomed twice around the stadium, really pouring on the speed now, loving the chance to cut loose and fly where he wanted. 

Behind him, Seamus pinched his face in concentration. The dive had scared the wits out of him; Harry flew like a man possessed. He understood that Harry rode a broom better than any Gryffindor in years, and he loved watching him in matches. Following him, though? That was an altogether different animal. As he hung on Harry's tail the Seeker dodged and weaved around the goal posts, and Seamus realized how good Harry really was. He could turn and accelerate completely without fear. He seemed utterly unaffected by speeds and angles that left Seamus' stomach churning and his head swimming. 

Still, Seamus gamely trailed through another series of dives and some ground-level flying that shook off everyone but the girl behind him. When Harry barely missed knicking the stands as he curled over them, Seamus gasped in surprise but hung on and made it over. 

Then he watched incredulously as Harry flew underneath the bleachers, and Seamus knew he was licked.

          Harry heard a groan from the crowd and figured that either the girl or Seamus had broken away, but he couldn't spare the time to look. As he had once before, he careened around corners and zigzagged between the stanchions, sometimes skimming the grass with his shoes as a beam brushed through his unruly hair. He made it halfway around the stadium's underbelly before swerving out into the open air above the stands. He floated to a halt, figuring none of the others would have been mad enough to follow him through that maze..

          A tiny brown-haired girl drifted up next to him.

          "Is that all you've got, Harry?" She asked with a brave smile, even though her face was very pale and bathed in sweat.

          Harry looked up in surprise. "You stayed with me?" She nodded. "Nice flying."

          "Thanks." She scooted her broom closer and put out her hand. "Before you ask, we haven't met. I'm Liza."

          He shook her little hand. "You're Alicia's sister, aren't you?"

          "Uh huh." Alicia Spinnet had been a Gryffindor Chaser two years ahead of Harry. Harry hadn't known her that well, but Liza was a miniature version of her with big brown eyes. "She taught me how to fly."

          "Pretty well, too. Am I gonna be able to shake you?"

          "Nope. I might get hurt, but I'm not joining that circle." The girl shook her head emphatically and Harry laughed.

          "Okay, well, I don't want you to get hurt." He turned, still smiling, and shouted to Mel and Ron, "Let's move on. I think this one's got a winner."

          They nodded and waved Harry and Liza back over for the next drill.

          After Saturday's dinner, Harry, Ron, and Mel met in the Gryffindor common room. They each had pages of notes taken during the remaining drills, covering everything from flight skills to hand-eye coordination and teamwork. The tryout had lasted several hours.

          "That could've gone worse," Ron said when they had settled in. 

Harry nodded. "They were nowhere near as bad as they seemed. I don't know if we've got a shot at the Cup, though."

"Aw, don't be all doom and gloom, Harry. We can come up with a crew as good as Ravenclaw, at the least," Mel said, "add a few lucky breaks and we win."

"Sure, it'll be easy," Harry said, though he wore a smile as he did. "So what've we got?"

"Let's start with the easy one first. Ron? The Beaters?"

          "Okay, well," he looked at his notes for a second, then flipped the stack over, "nobody as good as Fred an' George. Not even close."

          "Couldn't expect that, could we? Your brothers were the best Beaters in school," Harry replied.

          "I s'pose. Sorta disappointing, though. I think Mike and Eric are our best bet. Some o' the others hit better, but those two work together real well."

          Mike Silver and Eric Gold were fourth-years that Harry and Ron only vaguely knew. Both had tried out for Ron's Keeper spot the year before, but neither had been very good candidates.

          "I figured that," Mel said. "They were better Beaters than Keepers with the reserves last year. Plus, they've been completely inseparable since they were about four, so they've spent years playing together."

          "Really?" Harry asked. "I didn't know that."

          "Uh huh. From the same block in London and everything. Told me they had no choice, because of their names." All three of them laughed. "But seriously, they're good guys. I say we pick 'em. Ron?"

          "Okay. Yeah."

          "Harry?"

          "If you guys think so," he said with a shrug. "I didn't see them."

          "Alright," Mel said, "good. Two down, two to go. Now, Chasers."

          "Seamus," Harry said immediately. "He can fly, he can shoot, an' he knows the game."

          "Plus, if we don't pick him he'll throw a wingding," Ron added. "He was better than everybody else, anyway."

          "I don't know, I thought Davies was better," Mel said. "His brother was fantastic, and Allan told me that Roger taught him everything he knew." Roger Davies had been a standout Ravenclaw Chaser.

          "He did look good," Ron admitted. "You're not just sayin' that 'cos you think he's cute, are you, Mel?"

          She blushed. "You take that back, Ron!" She tossed a notebook at him, but he and Harry had already broken down laughing.

          "Jus' kiddin'. Geez. No need to get violent."

          "But anyway," Harry said when they had calmed down, "what about Liza Spinnet? She was the best flyer out there."

          "Too good, actually," Mel said with a shake of her head. "She can fly and shoot just fine, but she kept breaking out ahead of the others. She's not good enough to go one on three yet, but she doesn't have the team thing down."

          "She's not big enough, either," Ron added. "The Bludgers'll kill her!"

          "I guess, but you can't teach somebody how to fly like that. I don't think the Bludgers intimidate her."

          "Can you imagine her against Slytherin, Harry? We'll haveta scrape her off the flamin' bleachers."

          "Is there anyone else you guys thought was any good?" Harry and Ron pondered that for a few seconds, and then shook their heads. "So we're at Allan, Seamus, and Liza?

          "Uh huh."

          "Looks that way."

          "So Harry, who do we take Liza instead of, if we do? Allan or Seamus?"

          Harry thought about it. The girl wasn't better than either of those two, and she was small. He liked her attitude, though. Instinctively, he knew she would be a really good player one day.

          "So you want to take the two of them, huh?" Ron and Mel both nodded. "Okay. I can live with that."

          "I don't think there's necessarily a wrong choice, Harry."

          "No," he agreed, "I don't think there is, either."

          Mel looked down at the list of four names.

          "Alright. Let's get 'em up here and start practicing. We've only got 47 days until the first match."

          Ron and Harry looked at each other, and the same thought popped into their heads again.

          _Definitely just like Oliver._


	22. Very Nearly Malled

          "I come bearing cheesy goodness," Xander said as the entry bell to the Magic Box dinged. "Anyone hungry?" He held up several large pizzas for inspection. "C'mon, anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"

          Anya and the Weasleys looked up at him, their eyes tired and red from research.

          "What'd you get?" Anya asked. "And who's Bueller?"

          "Cheese and cheese and never mind."

          "Just cheese?" She whined. He had three boxes in hand.

          He waltzed over and deposited the pizzas on the table, along with a paper bag full of soda bottles. "Where's Buffy and the Dawnster?"

          "Training room. All you got was cheese?"

          "Weeellll … there may be some salami and mushroom goodness tucked away in there somewhere."

          Anya clapped her hands gleefully and jumped out of her chair, the fatigue momentarily forgotten as she threw her arms around Xander.

          "I know, I know. Who do you love?"

          She stiffened and let go of him. "Dammit, Xander," she said as tears welled up.

          "Oh god, An, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

          "Well, you did. You made me leak! Men!" She ducked into the staff bathroom to wipe her eyes.

          "Good work, Xander," George said from the table.

          "Remind you of Ron at all?" Fred asked with a smile. George nodded. To Xander, Fred added, "Our brother has a bit of a knack for sayin' the wrong thing. You two'd get along famously."

          "I bet," he replied, annoyed with himself.

          Buffy and Dawn walked in from the training room, both sweating and breathing heavily. "Somebody say something about cheesy goodness?" Buffy asked. "Hey, where's Anya?"

          "Yes, and bathroom."

          "What'd you say, Xander?" Dawn asked.

          "I didn't mean to … it wasn't so bad, I mean … help me out here, guys?" He said to Fred and George.

          The twins, whose eyes were glued to Buffy, Dawn and their skimpy workout wear, didn't even bother to reply.

          "Aah, you guys are no help. Look, I brought pizza. Doesn't that count for anything?"

          "It does with me, Xand," Buffy said with a smile, grabbing a stack of plates and napkins from their stash behind the counter. "Smells pretty good."

          The Weasleys tore their eyes away from Dawn, much to her dismay, and glanced at the pizza.

          "Hang on, what's that?" Fred asked.

          "What's what?"

          "In the box, Xander. For dinner. What is it?"

          The three of them and Anya, who had just emerged from the bathroom, stared at the Weasleys in shock.

          "You've never had pizza?"

          "What's pizza?"

          "They've never had pizza," Xander said to Buffy. "How can you not have had pizza?"

          "We don't get into all this American muggle food in wizard Britain," Fred answered.

          "American muggle fo – pizza is a universal form of nourishment." Xander slapped a piece on one of the paper plates and held it out. The plate immediately splotched gray with puddles of grease. "Here. Eat. Worship the cheesy goodness."

          "Universal. Hah. When was the last time you had Yorkshire pudding?" George asked, rising and taking the plate, "Or bangers and mash, or …"

          "Yech. Please stop," Dawn said. "Just try it."

          "Yorkshire pudding? That's just disgusting. I hope they kill the dogs first."

          George, the piece of pizza halfway to his mouth, stopped and stared at Anya. So did everyone else.

          "Took the words right out of my mouth, An." Xander put an arm around her shoulder. "Ex-vengeance demon Anyanka, everyone. She's here all week."

          "Don't forget to tip your waitress," Buffy and Dawn finished in unison.

          Xander frowned. "So I'm predictable. Sue me."

          George took a small bite of the pizza and his eyes lit up. "Cor! Fred, have a piece. This is brilliant." He took a larger bite, then another in quick succession.

          "See. I told you. You should try it with pepperoni," Dawn said.

          In minutes, everyone had pizza and soda and a seat around the hastily cleared research table. Fred and George were in varying states of ecstasy as they gobbled the pizza down.

          "So not to break up the cultural lesson," Buffy said, "but are we any closer to figuring out where that tiger-thingy came from?"

          "Mmmph," Fred said with his mouth full.

          "He means no," George translated. "We haven't seen anymore of 'em. That's a good sign."

          "It could mean somebody sent it, though," Dawn chipped in. "That would be majorly bad."

          "We need to find out what it was. Giles had no idea, either. I think something's up," Buffy mused. "He seemed distracted."

          "First week of classes is hectic, eh, Fred?"

          "Mmm-hmm. Definitely."

          "So what's the deal, is Giles, like, an awesome teacher or what?" Dawn asked.

          "He's good. Real good. Everybody likes his class, an' he's the first Dark Arts prof we've had hang on for more'n a year in a long time."

          "Well, duh," Dawn said. She smiled impishly, drawing a grin from Fred in response.

          Dinner passed quickly. The Weasleys, now introduced to pizza, were fairly certain they would never eat anything else again. Fred said as much to Dawn.

          "If you like that, wait until we hit the mall. I'm a huge fan, plus if you manage a little of the hungry we can hit the food court."

          "What's a food court?"

          Buffy and Dawn traded a look. "Oh, you'll see."

          "We have to hit my house first. We're all yucky, and these clothes are not for public consumption," Buffy added.

          "I think we're gonna have to pass on that one, Buff. The mall, not the public consumption. We're gonna grab some dessert at that new place on Browning."

          "We should go now, Xander," Anya said, tugging on his arm. "I heard they sell out of the chocolate hazelnut cake really fast and I want you to purchase one for me for making me leak."

          "Good luck with that," Fred said cheerfully.

          "Might want to bring your lucky rabbit's foot along, just in case you're late," George mumbled.

          "What? What did you say?"

          "Who, me?" George feigned innocence. "I didn't say anything." 

She glared at him suspiciously, then nodded.

          "Alright, An," Xander said. "We'll see you guys later, okay?"

          "Master she is beautiful a fine choice fine indeed."

          "Thank you, Recks." The blonde man reclined leisurely on the throne, his mind's eye picturing a younger Buffy in this very same cavern. "To think I nearly lost her here, Recks. Not twenty feet from this very spot, she drowned at the tender age of sixteen." He sipped from an ancient goblet of red wine. "Such a waste it would have been. I will have her. She will be mine, once we show her that she needs me."

Recks bobbed his beak up and down in agreement. The master rambled on about this one; that was a very good sign. "You love her, master?"

          "How could I not? How could I not." The blonde man smiled. "That is, after all, the only thing I can do."

          "Yes, master."

          "Tell me, Recks, where is she now?"

          Recks folded his wings across his back and closed his eyes.

          "The market master she is headed for the large market. She will be there soon."

          "Is the market crowded?"

          "It is crowded very crowded many people buying goods at the market."

          The blonde man could hear the strain in his companion's voice. "That's enough."

          Recks exhaled loudly and opened his eyes. "Thank you master sorry master I wish I could do more see more watch longer."

          "The Hellmouth interferes with your vision?"

          "It does makes it blurry and painful the binding does."

          "I figured as much. Just another reason why we need to avoid a confrontation with the Slayer right now. I fear I will not be strong enough to hold her, not while surrounded by her jabbering band of lemmings. Were they with her?" 

          "The Key master the Key and her wizards, but not the boy or Anyanka."

          "Excellent." He rose from his throne. "Come, Recks."

          "Where master where are we going?"

          "Why, shopping, of course. I might not be able to buy anything just now, but I feel the need for a good browse."

          "Cor," Fred said an hour later, spinning in a circle to take it all in, "this is amazing."

          George could only nod, awed by the massive structure and the bright lights gleaming off of the whitewashed walls. This early on a Saturday night, all of the stores were packed with people, many walking from shop to shop with multicolored bags and families in tow.

          "Welcome to the Sunnydale Galleria," Dawn said, throwing her arms wide with dramatic flourish. "I'm guessing they don't have these in wizard Britain."

          "Uh uh," Fred replied. "This is amazin'. It's like Diagon Alley for muggles, but in a box. An' there are more of these?"

          "Every town in America's probably within a half-hour of one," Buffy confirmed.

          The Weasleys continued to gape at the scope of the shopping. Even though most of the available goods seemed mundane, there were so many of them that the boys were stunned. Buffy and Dawn led them to the clothing section of the mall, doing their best to narrate the contents of each store and, when necessary, lead them past certain establishments without a visit. Victoria's Secret in particular caught George's eye, but Buffy marched him past.

          "Aww," he whined, "just a peek."

          "So not happening. Sorry, George," Buffy said. Fred and Dawn both smirked. "Now," Buffy said, "see this one?" She pointed to a K-Mart. "Everything you need will be in there. Dive in, grab what you need, then one of you come back out and get us, and we'll introduce you to the wonderful world of the American dollar."

          "An' it works just like the places in Britain, right? Gather what you want, then pay?"

          "Yup," Dawn said. "Universal shopping etiquette in full effect."

          "Sounds good," Fred replied. He grinned at Dawn. "We'll be done in a jiff, alright?" The two boys left them and headed for K-Mart.

          Buffy watched her sister watch Fred walk away. An evil grin crept onto her face.

          "Nice view?"

          "Oh, yeah, whatever," Dawn said. "YOU shouldn't be looking. It's creepy."

          "Why not? They're of legal age, I'm of legal age…"

          "Eew eew eew eew eew!" She covered her ears. "I'm not hearing this, I'm not…"

          Buffy laughed, patting her sister's shoulder. "Don't worry, Dawn. I'm just kidding you."

          Dawn's hands came down. "I know, but it's still icky."

          "They are big with the cute, though, huh? I know you think so. I've seen you checking them out."

          "I-I was only trying to figure out which is which," Dawn huffed indignantly.

          "So which one did you want to figure out?"

          "Fred … I mean … hey!"

          Buffy started laughing again.

          On the skywalk above, Recks watched them from behind his master's invisibility spell. The blonde man observed soundlessly as the crowd filtered around the Slayer and the Key.

          _Are you certain you can accomplish this, Recks? If you fail, I will be most displeased._

          He felt Recks's hesitation in his mind.

          _ For … for a short time only master long enough to force them to leave but not enough to cause damage._

          _That will be sufficient. Those outside know their tasks._

_          This is a different plan master different than our usual plans much different._

_          She is too strong with her followers at her side. In our current condition, we do not have the leverage we need. She is a Slayer, but one with family and friends. They make her resistant beyond anyone we have faced before. It will make her a good match when she is finally broken, but first, we must isolate her. Do you understand?_

_          Yes master of course yes I agree._

_          Good._ He turned and looked Recks in the eye. _Then do it._

          "So, Fred, huh?" Buffy said when she had finished laughing.

          Dawn pouted. "I'm not saying another word."

          "Uh huh."

          "It's none of your business."

          "None at all."

          "Stop smirking."

          "Who, me? Dawnie, why would I …" Buffy trailed off. 

The flow of mall traffic had suddenly come to a startling halt. In unison, a score of shoppers all turned their heads to look at Buffy and Dawn. Packages and shopping bags dropped to the floor with a staccato of thumps. Men, women, and children from every age bracket moved into a loose circle around the Summers woman.

          "Okay, this is disturbing," Dawn said.

          "In a very Vote Republican kind of way," Buffy agreed. "Let's get the boys."

          Dawn nodded. Buffy grabbed her hand and took a few steps towards the store.

          The shoppers followed them.

          "Uh, Buffy?" A note of fear ran through Dawn's quavering voice. "I really, really wanna go home now."

          They took two more steps toward the store. The shoppers did the same, still staring at the two girls with blank, emotionless faces.

          "You will give us the Key and you will not be harmed," they said in unison.

          "Sorry, guys. Your doors are staying locked." Buffy pulled Dawn closer to her. "She's leaving with me, so just back off and tell Donald Sutherland to take his creepy aliens out of my town. I don't want to hurt any of you."

          Each of the shoppers took a step forward, closing the ring. 

Buffy darted towards a sturdy looking guy in a Sunnydale High letter jacket and dropped him with hard elbow. As the circle collapsed onto them, she pulled Dawn through the gap.

          "Doesn't mean I won't," Buffy muttered.


	23. Besieged

          "Buffy!" Dawn shouted as her sister dragged her towards the store where the Weasleys had gone. 

          "Run now, complain later," Buffy told her. Side by side, they sprinted to one of several larger junction areas. This particular one had a gazebo in the center that Buffy knew provided a setting for photo ops with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. Fred and George were in the K-Mart on the far side. Just beyond that lay the exit.

          Behind them, the mass of shoppers surged forward, scrambling over benches and through the gazebo in their haste to catch the fleeing Summers girls. Fred and George saw the mob through the store's entrance; when they spied Buffy and Dawn fleeing their way, they dropped their armfuls of new clothes and hastened to the door.

          "They're gonna cut 'em off," Fred shouted to his brother over the din. In front of Buffy and Dawn, a new group of shoppers had shed their purchases and formed a second front. "We've got to do something!"

          "Like what?" George yelled back. He had his wand out already.

          "Put that away. We can't use magic with all the muggles." George nodded and sheathed his wand as Fred cast around frantically for some sort of solution

          Buffy couldn't afford to wait for their intervention. The rioting mob had boxed them in.

          "Dawnie…"

          "We're totally stuck," Dawn finished. She glanced around at the circling mob and instinctively moved back-to-back with her sister.

          "Try not to hurt anyone too badly. I think these are still normal people, just zombified somehow."

          "Gotcha."

          One of the shoppers, another boy in a Sunnydale High letter jacket, lunged at Dawn; she sidestepped and with a short hop kicked him in the ribs.

          "Sorry, Aaron," she squeaked as he tumbled over with a 'whoof'. An older man, in his forties and wearing a dull gray suit, came in behind Aaron and swung a leather briefcase at her head. Dawn ducked and slammed her heel into his crotch, doubling him over. Behind her, Buffy made short work of two burly men she thought she recognized from Xander's construction job. She saw Fred and George standing just beyond the mob and an idea popped into her head.

          "Fred! Can you lighten stuff?"

          He barely heard her through the noise, but lifted his hand in a thumbs-up gesture.

          "Dawnie," she said, dropping a soccer mom with a sharp elbow, "I've got an idea."

          "What?" A fist narrowly missed Dawn's face; she kicked its owner in the stomach and he tumbled to the floor.

          "Fastball special."

          "What! No way!"

          "Fred will catch you."

          "Buffy…"

          "I'll be right behind, Dawnie."

          Looking doubtful, Dawn acquiesced, clearing some room with a spinning leg kick. Buffy cupped her hands and Dawn jumped on them.

          Using Slayer strength for a trampoline, Buffy hurled Dawn into the air. She sailed over the massed shoppers; Fred whipped out his wand and guided her to a soft landing. A few seconds later, Buffy followed suit, landing perfectly after an amazing leap.

          The crowd rushed after them as the Weasley boys and the Summers girls took off down the hallway.

          _Are they in position?_

          _Yes a dozen master you wanted a dozen they brought a dozen._

          _Excellent.___

They escaped through the glass doors into the parking lot, all four breathing heavily.

"So much for buyin' work clothes," George said between pants. He looked back at the mall, where the bloodthirsty mob seemed suddenly docile and confused as they milled around behind the doors. "I've gotta tell you, Buffy, I thought Professor Giles was havin' us on about the Hellmouth, but this place is pretty bleedin' strange."

"I'll second that," Fred wheezed.

          "That was not of the norm," Buffy said with a nod.

          "Somebody must have been controlling them," Dawn chipped in. "Look at them now, they look really surprised – kind of an oops-I'm-in-a-rampaging-mob-and-I-can't-get-out moment."

          "Check out idea girl." Dawn perked up, smiling proudly. "Come on, let's find the car and get the hell out of here."

          When they reached the correct row, Buffy jerked to an abrupt halt, scanning the darkness with her eyes as the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

          "What is it?" Fred asked. He grabbed Dawn and shoved her between him and George.

          "Something's …" The distinct crack of rifle echoed around them, followed instantly by a strange thwip. Buffy's hand went to her neck, "…wrong."

          She crumpled to the ground, the metallic sliver of a tranquilizer dart protruding from the soft flesh of her neck.

          "Down!" Fred tackled Dawn to the asphalt. 

 George whipped out his wand and took a knee next to a blue Corolla. With his left hand, he reached over and touched Buffy's stomach.

"She's breathing. S'not lethal poison."

          "Okay, what now?" Fred's chest muffled Dawn's voice. Under other circumstances, she wouldn't have minded, but the sight of Buffy slumped on the ground overrode all emotion but fear.

          "How about some dinner?"

          Dawn watched in horror as vampires appeared from between the shadowed cars. Lots of vampires. More than she could swiftly count.

          The one who had spoken leered at her from beneath the bill of his stained baseball cap. The cap had been white, Dawn could tell, but now it looked more like a candy cane mixed by a drunk. She gulped audibly.

          "Off me," she said to Fred, pushing against him forcefully. He rolled away and rose to his feet; Dawn reached over, pulled a stake from Buffy's prone form, and came up in a fighting crouch.

          "Relax, nibblet," a reassuring British voice said. Two vampires in the back turned to dust, then two more, before the rest of the group caught on. "You look like you've eaten already, and seconds just won't do."

          Dawn came up out of her crouch and drove her stake home on a suddenly confused vampire. "Are you saying I'm fat, Spike?" She couldn't see him, but she knew that voice anywhere.

          "INCENDO!" Twin spells cast by twin Weasleys produced two enormous fireballs. "You look good, Dawn. The undead have no taste," Fred added as his spell dusted several vampires.

          That comment drew a smile from Dawn. She lashed out with a long leg and tripped another vampire. In seconds he became a scattered pile of dust; the other vampires were swiftly disappearing as well. Grunts and shouts echoed across the parking lot as Spike and the Weasleys took care of the grisly job.

Dawn spun around, looking for something to stake, and came face to face with another enemy.

          "Hafta agree with carrot-top, Dawnie. You look sleek. Been training?"

          "Faith?" Dawn's huge eyes grew even wider.

          "She's with us, Bit," Spike said, brushing vampire remains from his duster. "Trust me."

          "But … it's … she's MMMMFFFF."

          The last of the vampires suddenly grabbed Dawn from behind, holding a dangerous-looking knife to her throat.

          "The Key is ours. You let me go or the girl dies."

          "Let her go, an' we won't dust your do-rag," Spike warned.

          "Hurt her," Faith added, "and I'll introduce you to some of my classic torture collection."

          "Ooh, tough slayer and her pet vampire. Don't think I …"

          They heard a sharp snap and his head suddenly detached from his body, do-rag and all. For a half-second the disembodied head floated in the air, its eyes wide with shock, before the dust covered a very surprised Dawn. She couldn't help but stare at her savior.

          Dobby was standing behind her on the hood of a station wagon, a wide smile splitting his enormous head. He wore mismatched blue and yellow socks and a long t-shirt with the words 'Don't Mess with Texas' emblazoned on the front. A blue Dodgers cap perched between his ears.

          "I'se did as you asked, Mister Spike, but he wanted to hurt the Miss. Dobby meant no offense."

          "Offense? What offense?" Dawn asked Spike.

          "I told him not to use magic. It's alright, Dobby – you saved the bit here, we'll call it even."

          "Oh, thank you, Mister Spike."

          "No, thank you … Dobby?" Dawn broke in, taking in the sight of the odd creature. "Dobby, thank you. You saved my somewhat artificial but very much valued life."

          She smiled at him, and fat tears started dripping from his eyes.

          "What? Don't cry!"

          "No, miss, Dobby is happy to have saved Spike's Bit. He is so very …"

          "Cool it, Dobby," Spike said; he knew this could go on for hours. He turned to Dawn, "As for you, you know I think you look bloody fine, so stop your bullshit whinjin' and help me load your sister into the car. We got lots ta talk about."

          "You know I want to go back and have orgasms, right? It's just that I want to be sure we have a firm … Xander?" Anya said as the bell on the Magic Box door tinkled. "You're not listening to me, are you?"

          "An…"

          "That's so typical: I tell you that I don't want to play Angry Passenger – Naughty …"

          "An, Stop! Look!"

          Anya turned and looked at the shop. Buffy lay prone on the counter, obviously unconscious, with Dawn and Spike standing over her holding a cloth to her head. The Weasleys sat around the research table, books held in their laps and chairs tipped back.

          "'Ey, Chubs. Nice o' you to join us. Demongirl," he said to Anya with a nod.

          "What are you doing here, Junior?"

          "Somethin' you need to know before I answer that."

          "I don't think so. I think you need to skip answering it and get the hell out before Buffy wakes up." He suddenly realized Buffy was unconscious. "Buffy! What did you do to her? Is she…"

          "She's okay, Xander," Dawn said. "She got tranqed. No big. Fred and George did a spell to make sure. But listen, there is something else."

          "What?"

          "Me." Faith stepped out of the training room.

          "GAH!" Xander started flailing around for a weapon. "Anya, help me. We need to find something …" He grabbed the nearest hard object to the door and whipped it up in front of him. "Back off, Faith."

          She couldn't help it. She started to chuckle. Soon Dawn, Spike, and the Weasleys were giggling, too. Xander looked at the object in his hand for the first time.

          "What the – An, what is this?"

          "Dried iguana. They're on sale this week. It's a very good price, and the quality is excellent. I don't think it will do much to that girl, though."

          "Anya," he said, his face ashen as he dropped the iguana, "that's Faith. Evil Slayer Faith?"

          "You mean the one who stole Buffy's body and," she made a thrusting motion with her hips, "with Riley?"

          Spike laughed harder, but Faith went silent and her eyes darkened. He caught her reaction and turned to Xander.

          "Listen, moron, she's hear with me. Workin' the side o' right and whatall."

          "No way. Not possible."

          "She saved our lives, Xander. Her and Spike and Dobby," Dawn said indignantly.

          "We can put a truth spell on her, Xander. Would that convince you?" George asked.

          "No, you won't," Spike said, knowing she would reveal a lot more under that spell than he wanted her to. "It doesn't matter what Harris thinks." He shot a glare at Xander.

          "Okay, Fangless, let's get something straight here. You vampire. Evil. Bad Guy. Me demon hunter. Not evil. Good guy. You don't tell me what…"

          "Stop it," Buffy said from the counter. The shouting had broken through her unconsciousness. She tried to rise, then quickly dropped back to the surface. "That's it. No more tequila for Buffy."

          Xander rushed down to her side. "Buff, you alright?"

          "I'd say yes, but everything's kinda gone all Fear and Loathing in Sunnydale."

          "I'll get your golf shoes," he replied. "Seriously, how do you feel?" He looked at Dawn. "What the hell happened?"

          "Somebody called an attention mall shoppers on us, then we got jumped by vampires in the parking lot. Faith, Spike, and Dobby flanked them and opened up a six-pack of whoop ass."

          Buffy's eyes shot open again. "Faith? Faith's here?"

          "Hiya, B," she said tentatively. "Don't worry, I'm not … it isn't … I'm here to help."

          Buffy swung her legs gingerly over the side of the counter and staggered to the floor. She faced the dark-haired Slayer, weaving slightly as she struggled to stand.

          "You're here to help. Why am I oh so not comforted by that."

          "Buffy," Spike said, his tone soft and sincere.

          "Don't. You don't get an opinion here."

          "She's here with me, Buffy. She volunteered. We were together in L.A."

          Buffy turned and glared daggers at Spike. "L.A. You've been in L.A. all this time. With Faith."

          "It's not like that, B," Faith said, well aware what Buffy must have thought. "He only showed up a little while ago. I got paroled in August and I've been helping Angel."

          Neither Spike nor Buffy averted their eyes. The connection between them was palpable. So was the tension.

          "Angel," Buffy spat.

          "He took me in. I had nowhere to go."

          She finally looked at Faith. "Any particular reason that you should have?"

          "Listen, Slayer, it's not …"

          Her fist snapped his head back like a speed bag.

          "I don't want to hear it, Spike. I just want you both out of here. Now."

          "No."

          "No?" She punched him again, sending him staggering into the counter. Faith moved to step in between them when Buffy swung at her, too.

          The punch never landed. Faith instantly vanished, reappearing on the far side of the room looking dazed.

          "Dobby won't let you hurt Mister Spike or Miss Faith," the house elf said as he crawled out from under the research table.

          Buffy's eyes went wide. "Huh? What was in that dart? And why am I seeing his shirt saying 'Don't Mess with Texas'?"

          "That's Dobby, pet. He's with me, too. Does the hocus pocus like a right pro. He's a house elf. Got the shirt from Angel's girl Fred."

          "You and Faith came here from Angel in L.A. Where'd you get a house elf?" Willow had explained them to Buffy earlier in the year.

          "Dumbledore sent 'im to watch my back."

          "Why?"

          "Because you're in danger, an' I'm trying to get you out of it, pet."

          The atmosphere calmed considerably after that. Anya and Dawn made tea, heated conveniently by the Weasleys, and sat down at the research table with Buffy. Spike and Faith stood near the training room, while Xander stared blankly from the counter with arms crossed over his chest.

          "So I'm in danger, but you don't know from what. You know a guy who knows, but you have to pay him for the info first, and he'll only give it to you. That about sum it up?"

          Spike lit a cigarette. He didn't say that he knew about the Prince of Lust or his quest for a soul. A rudimentary plan had started to form in his mind; he hoped he had the patience to see it through. "That's about the size of it, yeah."

          "Why are you here, then?"

          "Research. Need the Bit's help to figure out who this bastard's looking for."

          "This is bullshit," Xander said. "Could you be any more vague about all this? Who's this mysterious contact guy of yours?"

          "If I tell you, you'll try an' take him out. We can't have that. He won't talk, so you'll kill him and we'll be fucked, or he'll kill you an' then it'll be moot."

          "Wait," Dawn said, interrupting Xander's snide retort, "you need my help?"

          "Yeah. You up for it?"

          "Of course." She smiled. "Go research girl me."

          "You trust Faith?" Buffy asked, not looking at the dark-haired Slayer.

          "She's done okay so far. Poof and the junior watcher, they trust her. S'good enough fer me."

          The blonde Slayer thought that over for several tense minutes, then she rose and entered Faith's personal space. Her diminutive size made her no less imposing.

          "I want this clear, so listen carefully. We're not friends. We're not allies. We're not five by five. We're not anything. If there's a fight, you throw in, fine. If I even suspect that you're trying any of the shit you used to pull, I'll hit you until you stop moving. Clear?"

          "Crystal."

          "Slayer, listen …"

          "No way, Billy Idol," Faith said, "this is between me and B. She's doing the right thing and the smart thing, so don't try and be wicked noble defending my virtue. I don't have any."

          Across the room, Xander watched the exchange and felt something stir in his heart. He hated Faith. Not just for trying to kill him, which admittedly he wasn't thrilled with, but for what she had done to Willow and especially to Buffy. He could sense, though, that this was not the girl who had done those things. This was a girl on the rebound. He almost smiled at that.

          Faith caught Buffy's eyes. "You don't want me to, and that's cool, I wouldn't either, but I've got your back here, B."

          "That's comforting," Buffy said as she sat back down.


	24. Confusion in the Ranks

            "Grey said you wanted ta talk to me?" Jess stepped out from the dining hall doorway and into the courtyard. Willow waited on the grass, a dark red robe shrouding her in shadow.

            "I thought it was time. We've had, what, two weeks since I walked through your, um, walkthrough? Things are jumbled, and that's no good. Plus, Grey's kinda nervous, since nobody's speaking to anybody but him and it's making him nuts."

            "I noticed."

            "Good. So," she paused awkwardly, drawing the syllable out, "here we are. Talking. Which is of the good."

            Jess cocked an eyebrow. "You wanna talk about the other night?"

            "No, but we kinda have to, don't we?"

            "I s'pose we do." She looked the redhead in the eye. "Willow, I would never do those things to Grey. Never again, I guess."

            "Hey, listen, I'm calm Willow about it now. I know you wouldn't on purpose, I mean unless you get mind-controlled again, which, okay, pretty unlikely."

            "But possible."

            "It's possible you'll get turned to the Dark Side again, yeah. But you won't hurt Grey like that ever again."

            "I … I could."

            "No," Willow said firmly, "you couldn't. I won't let you. And we both know who's more powerful." The last sentence came out with a hint of menace.

            "Promise me."

            "What?"

            "Promise me if it happens again, you'll take me out before I get near him."

            "I promise. You won't touch him."

            Jess sighed. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Not one o' my finer moments, I'll tell you."

            The image of Dawn clutching her broken arm flashed in Willow's mind. "Magic can do that. I'm sorry I freaked on you."

            "Don't be," Jess said with a shake of her head. "I'm glad you did. It shows how deeply you love him. He deserves that."

            "I-I know you're still in love with him, too."

            "Don't worry about that. I think I finally realized …" She trailed off, trying to figure out the right phrasing.

            "What?"

            "He's yours. Forever. Not that I would try an' get between you, 'cos I wouldn't, but it would be pointless."

            "Oh." Willow felt a warm tingle inside. Jess knew him as well as anyone; if she said that, it had to be true. _Not that I didn't know it, Willow thought, _but confirmation is nice_. "Well that's good … though not for you."_

            "Actually, I feel a little more okay with it since … well, since we saw what we saw. I still miss him, but I want him to be happy. I guess I never believed he would come back to me, and after seein' that again … I get why."

            "Yeah. I am sorry it's so hard."

            Jess shrugged. "It is what it is." 

They stared at one another awkwardly for a few moments.

"So I didn't really come out here to talk about that, though. I mean, I'm glad we are, I don't want things all ugly between you and me, since y'know you're kinda Grey's best friend and all. I sorta hoped that we could discuss something else … if you don't mind?"

            "What?"

            "Tara."

            Jess visibly stiffened. "What about Tara?"

            "Well, it's none of my business, I know…"

            "You're right. It isn't." Jess started to walk back into the dining hall, but Willow grabbed her arm.

            "Hey, stop. Okay, I said it's not my business, but I didn't mean it. Tara's my friend, lady, and you're gonna listen to me whether you want to or not, even if I have to whip up a spell to pin you down over here."

            "Willow, I really don't want to talk about Tara."

            "Tough noogies. We're talking." Willow put on her resolve face.

            "Tough noogies?" Jess couldn't help herself. She started laughing.

            "Hey! I'm being serious."

            "Tough noogies? That's hurtin' the gravity of your convictions, hon. Big time hurtin' 'em." She kept laughing, but didn't walk away.

            "You and Tara haven't said boo to each other in weeks. She's miserable and she won't talk to me about it. I wanna know what's going on."

            Jess sat down heavily on one of the stone steps. "D'you ever wish you smoked? 'Cos right now, I really do. Grey has this book, I forget which one, one o' the mysteries, and there's a line in there that goes somethin' like, 'not smoking gains in the area of bein' healthy, but loses a lot in the area of dramatic gestures.' I could use one right now."

            "A cigarette?"

            "A dramatic gesture." She sighed. "Tara an' I aren't talkin', it's true."

            "Duh. Why not?"

            "It's … complicated. Sort of. I dunno. I guess 'cause I'm not talkin' to her." A maelstrom of thoughts had passed through Jess's head since she left Tara's room. She couldn't talk to anyone about them, not even Grey, because she didn't know anyone who might understand.

            Except Willow.

            But she and the redhead hadn't ever been on the best of terms. _An' even now, this is a wee bit personal to be droppin' on a girl ya hardly know_, she thought.

            "You have to promise me that this stays here, with us. You can't go tellin' Tara any of it, or even that we talked. Otherwise, I won't say anythin'."

            "You want me to lie? To Tara? 'Cuz I'm really not so good at that."

            "Just don't bring it up. You said she wasn't talkin' about me."

            "I'm not so good at that, either. Really. I'm not trying to … I'd like to help, but I don't want to accidentally mush everything up."

            "We're not talkin'. It's pretty well mushed, yeah?"

            "Oh. Good point."

            "So, will you not tell? Even if she figures somethin's goin' on?"

            "Alright. My lips are sealed." Willow paused for a second. "Except they aren't, because I couldn't breathe if they were. But I won't say that stuff."

            Jess laughed. She could see why Grey liked this girl. "Alright, then." She turned serious again. "Can I ask a personal question?"

            "Umm, I thought we were talking about you?"

            "We are. Can I?"

            "Okay?"

            "The first time you kissed Tara, how did it happen?"

            Willow's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That is personal. Um… well … it just sort of happened. We were in her room, messing with this aura reading spell, and we messed it up a little, and then I kinda fell over on top of her, and it … well, y'know, it happened."

            "Did the room get all still, like when you're about to kiss a boy for the first time?"

            "Uh, well … the first time I kissed Oz, the room didn't go all still. Of course, we were outside, and I kinda did it on the run. With Xander and Tara … yeah, it was sort of like that. Like the room suddenly zoomed in on us. Grey and I had a moment like that, too, but we didn't kiss. Wait … did you and Tara kiss?"

            Jess shook her head, refusing to look at Willow.

            "Then why did you ask?"

            "I … I went to her room after I left Grey's. On the day of the magic lesson?" Willow nodded. "I was really upset, but she hugged me and made me feel so much better, and then I realized how close we were, and … zoom. It was like the room froze."

            "And then?"

            "I freaked. Took off. Haven't spoken ten words to her since."

            "What does that have to do with kissing anyone?"

            "If she had been a boy … I would have kissed her."

            "Oh. But she's not a boy."

            "An' I didn't kiss her."

            "Did you want to?"

            "Honest? I don't know. Which is a little weird for someone whose answer should be no."

            Willow took a few seconds to gather her thoughts, trying to remember how she had felt about kissing Tara. Mostly she had been nervous; Jess seemed more mixed up than that, and she wanted to steer her towards Tara carefully.

            "Why are you ambivalent?"

            Jess looked at her hands. "Once again, needin' the dramatic gesture. I guess … I mean, I like boys. No problem with 'em. Definitely satisfied by 'em. At least the one I've been with." Willow gulped. "I'm sorry, is this … too much?"

            "No no no, I want to help you. It's just a little weird for me. Keep going, though, because I understand where you're at. Really, I do," she said with a half-smile. "It's confusing."

            "Yeah. Tell me about it. So anyway, I was happy where I was at. Then here comes Tara, an' we're great friends. I had a lot o' fun with her this summer, an' I know she's got the lesbian thing happenin', which is cool with me. I didn't really think much about it, ta tell you the truth. I was havin' a good time with her, an' she's a good person."

            "She's amazing," Willow agreed.

            "I guess I knew she wanted me, even though she never said it. You can always tell, y'know? But I ignored it, 'cos I was thinkin' about Grey, an' she spent all summer talkin' to me about that, helpin' me deal with it."

            "What does Grey think about this?"

            "I don't know," Jess said ruefully, "I haven't asked him."

            "Maybe you should. He knows you pretty well."

            "Nah, that would be too weird. For everyone, me included. I also don't wanna … I don't have a whole lot else goin' on now, romance-wise. Tara and I're on the way to being great friends – I don't want to screw that up when I don't even know what's goin' on in my own head." Jess looked up at her and frowned. "Everything got all arseways pretty quick, dinnit?"

            "Uh huh," Willow said, chewing on a stray strand of her hair as she thought it out.. "So you want, what, some sage-like advice? Keeping in mind that sage-like and Willow are two concepts where the twain don't much meet."

            "That's not what Grey says. But yeah, please?"

            "Okay … I think you should just be her friend and see what happens. If that's what you're looking for, and I know how it might or might not be, since I've been known to catch the alternative lifestyle train myself, but anyway … if it's what you're looking for, it'll just happen. It did for me and Tara, and believe me I wasn't looking that way. If it's not, you'll stay good friends." The redhead shrugged, thinking of Xander. "I've been there, too."

            "So ya want me to jus' wander up to her and say 'Hey' after avoiding her for two weeks?"

            "Ummm … yeah?" Willow said with a few rapid nods.

            Jess shook her head, wishing one last time that she had a cigarette to flick into the distance.

            The knock brought Tara out of her grading reverie.

            "It's open," she called, laying her pen down in the middle of the stack of essays.

            Jess stepped through the door, her face creased with anxiety. "Hey."

            "H-hey."

            "Okay if I come in?" Tara nodded; Jess stepped further into the room. "Been awhile, huh?"

            "Y-yeah, w-well we've been busy with stuff. Class stuff."

            "I heard you an' Willow have your big teaching display next week."

Tara smiled tentatively, "Uh huh. Giles wants us to show it to all the houses at once, so W-will and I have been working pretty hard. Y-you?"

            "Ah, the usual. Dumbledore and I've been sifting my memories, tryin' to get a line on Voldemort's location."

            "No luck?"

            "None. I'm startin' to think he somehow bound that knowledge to the spell Willow broke in my head las' spring."

            "I've never heard of that."

            Jess shrugged, "Me either, but that guy can do things no one else's even thought of. I wouldn't be surprised."

            "Th-that wouldn't be good."

            "No." The conversation flagged and Jess started edging for the door. "So, listen, I know you've got lots to grade. All the Gryfs are up in arms. I'll leave you to it, I guess."

            As she reached for the door knob, Tara called out, "W-wait, Jess, it's o-okay. I'm almost done. I w-wanted to talk to you, anyway."

            "You did?"

            Tara took a deep breath. She had been rehearsing this all week, and spoke slowly to avoid stuttering. "Uh huh. About the other day. I … I hope you're not mad at me."

            "Mad? Why would I be mad? I'm the one who waltzed out without any sort o' explainin' an' then avoided you completely."

            "I think the a-avoiding was a little more mutual than that. I just wasn't … amn't? aren't? … sure what I did and I didn't want to make things worse."

            Jess looked her in the eye. She knew what Tara assumed had prompted her to leave, and she wasn't wrong. Despite that, Jess wasn't ready to deal with it. She also didn't want to make a mistake and sever things with Tara. She knew how skittish the girl could be, and how confused she was herself.

            So she stalled.

            "You didn't do anything, hon. Honest. I was just really embarrassed by the whole thing and … ashamed, I guess. That stuff I did doesn't sit too well, as you probably guessed."

            "I can imagine," Tara said with a nod, relieved that the moment she had felt between them had only been on her end. She hated the thought of scaring Jess off with her feelings, even if it was now pretty obvious that Tara had no chance of winning her heart. _Better to be her friend_, Tara thought, _than to lose her altogether_. "Y-you don't have to be embarrassed, though. Everybody's probably told you this, but it wasn't your fault."

            "Maybe. Maybe not. It was my fault that we stopped talkin', though. I'm sorry for that."

            "It's okay. Just, in the future?" Jess nodded. "Remember that I'm your friend, and you don't need to be embarrassed about that stuff. I kn-know what you did. It doesn't matter. I'm your friend regardless."

            "That's … Tara, thanks." Jess smiled. "I don't know what else to say."__

            The blonde girl smiled back.

            "Don't say anything, j-just as l-long as you don't forget."


	25. Meeting of the Minds

            "Good morning, Hermione."

            Hermione looked up from the text she was reading. Giles stood near her chair, a cup of tea in each hand. They were alone in the library. Madame Pince rarely made it in as early as Hermione on the weekends.

            "Care for a cup?"

            "That would be … grand, thank you," she said. Drinking tea in the library was normally forbidden, but since Giles was a professor, Hermione decided to simply be very careful not to spill.

            He placed the cup and saucer by her elbow. "May I ask what it is you're doing in the library on such a fine Saturday morning?"

            "Umm … well, certainly." She held up her book. "Professor McGonagall wants 24 inches on reversing human-animal transfigurations. Harry and Ron are off schooling the new Quidditch team, so I thought I'd get in a bit of work."

            He took the seat across from her, his face lit up by a grin. "Have I ever told you how much you remind me of Willow sometimes?"

            "I do?"

            "The number of times I found Willow studying in the library at odd hours …" He shook his head at the pleasant memory. "Above all else, she was a wonderful student."

            "Thank you," Hermione said, blushing at the implied compliment.

            "I wonder if I might impose on you once more, as I did last term. I know that you're quite busy with classes, training, and Mister Weasley," he said, turning her an even deeper shade of red, "but I'm afraid something's come up that requires a bit of research."

            "Of course I'll help, Professor … Giles," she corrected. "I'm sure Ginny would, too."

            "Actually, I think it would be best if we kept this to ourselves for now."

            "Something is seriously amiss, I take it."

            "Yes, quite." He produced the folder he had received from Quentin Travers and handed it to Hermione. "Could you look this over, please?"

            She eagerly accepted it, flipping the cover open and scanning the pages. As she read, Giles pulled a number of books from the restricted section of the stacks and retrieved his notes from the cubby he had fashioned for himself.

            When Hermione had finished reading, she looked back up at him quizzically. "I must ask, Giles. This is from the Watcher's Council; do you trust them?"

            "Why do you ask?"

            "Wizards don't, generally. I think that Professor Dumbledore must, if he hired you and Willow, but from what you've described to me before about your dealings with them and with this Faith woman, I would guess that you don't."

            "I don't. Not entirely. On this, however, I fear they are trustworthy simply because they are scared."

            "Oh my."

            "Indeed."

            "Have you done any further research on the Cadre Caelestis?"

            "A bit. I haven't gotten very far. I know that originally there were Lucifer and his twelve captains who crashed from Heaven to Earth. Most accounts of them are vague, no names or powers given, no descriptions that match up over time. For all intents and purposes, they seem to be shadows."

            "How come they stay in Hell? Must they stay there, or can they walk the Earth? Oh, but if they can't, how could they threaten Buffy?"

            Giles chuckled softly. "Three excellent questions, Hermione. Questions that I must admit I have few answers for. I know this much: they are bound to Hell, which is effectively a different dimension. They can, however, be summoned to the Earth with a specific purpose in mind."

            "That must be very black magic."

            "Some of the foulest known."

            "So a powerful practitioner of black magic set loose a fallen angel on Buffy."

            "Yes. I believe the key to defeating it lies in learning which one was loosed, and…"

            Hermione cut him off. "Professor, you realize it must have been You-Know-Who that did this, don't you?"

            He removed his classes and rubbed away an imaginary piece of dirt with his sweater. "Yes, I daresay it was. What I fear, and you must repeat this to no one," she nodded, "is that he is revenging himself for his defeat last year, and that we will all be targeted."

            "That would make sense." As she said it, a thought began to buzz in the back of her brain. She decided to wait for it to come forward on its own; that usually worked best for her. "If this fallen angel is so powerful, why wouldn't he attack Buffy directly?"

"Another excellent question, one that I have not yet answered either. I have some theories, however, centered on the idea that their home dimension itself is both the prison and the chains of their incarceration. I believe that the proximity to the Hellmouth has weakened this creature chasing Buffy, to the point where it cannot face her and hope to win."

            "Do you have any evidence of that?"

            "What you saw in the file, of course, as well as these." He handed her a small sheaf of paper with notes written in his meticulous hand.

            She scanned them briefly. "I'll need to read all of these sections."

            "I suppose you will. If it's too much of a burden…"

            "No, Giles," she said, the excitement bright in her eyes, "not at all. This is a fascinating conundrum. I wish it were not …" Suddenly, her eyes widened in recognition as the thought at the back of her head finally formed. "Professor, didn't you tell us last year that when Angel received his soul the second time, he went to Hell?"

            "Yes, he did. Why?"

            "Perhaps he saw, or even met, some of these fallen angels?"

            His eyes met hers, both glowing with recognition.

            "I had not even thought of that. It would be a brilliant coup." She beamed. "There are many dimensions that could justly be called Hell, but it would be worth a try. How do you feel about a short field trip?"

            "Oh my," Hermione said, squinting to see the whole of the Hyperion in the bright Los Angeles sun. 

            "You get used to it," Gunn said, hopping out of Angel's convertible. He had picked them up from a wizard's pub that had a permanent place on the floo network.

            "The weather is nice here," Giles commented. "Though I suppose Angel doesn't get to enjoy it much."

            Gunn laughed. "More than most of the vampires we get."

            "Mister Gunn, I was wondering about something."

            "Just Gunn, girl. What?" He led them up to the front door.

            "Is Faith here?"

            "No," he said, letting them into the hotel. "She and that peroxided fool took off a few weeks ago."

            "Peroxided … dear lord, she's with Spike?" Giles asked. "He's returned?"

            "Not exactly," Angel said, stepping out from the shadows once the door had been closed. "Hello, Giles." He looked at Hermione. "It's Hermione, right? You're the one who found that spell in the spring."

            Her face colored as the handsome vampire looked at her. Up close, he cut a very imposing figure. "That was me. Hello, Angel."

            "Yes, hello," Giles added, stepping into the lobby and glancing around. "My, this is stunning."

            "It's home," Angel said. 

            "What was that about Spike and Faith?"

            "Spike came here, looking for some help with his … problem."

            "And?" Giles knew all about Spike's search for a soul.

            "I did what I could, which wasn't much." 

            "What precisely does that mean?"

            Angel took a sip from a mug of blood and stared at Giles. "How much I explain depends on how much you'll share with Buffy."

            "Why does everyone keep saying that? It's as if I'm a bloody sieve," he muttered. "I won't say anything to Buffy. I know if you thought it was important, she would already know."

            The vampire nodded. Hermione and Gunn sat on one of the couches and watched the other two as Angel began to explain.

            "What do you know about our search for the Eye of the Golem last year?"

            "I know you found it with a master vampire, and that he made Spike tell you about him and Buffy. Is there more?"

            "He had a seer."

            "That much I know. Spike said she seemed to be, quote, Hellen Keller with fangs and no personality, unquote."

            "That's pretty accurate. Did he tell you about her reading?"

            "Reading what?"

            "Him."

            "Certainly not. What happened?"

            "The Don suggested that Spike let her read him. At the time, he refused to say what it was about."

            "He has since told you?"

            Angel nodded. "Essentially, what was said was that a Hellspawn is after Buffy, and only Spike can stop it. 'The Prince of Lust has met his match' were the exact words."

            "Hey, that's from an Aerosmith song," Fred chimed in. She stood up from behind the counter. "Oh, hello," she said, noticing Giles and Hermione for the first time. They exchanged introductions, and then Fred added, "I think I have the tape upstairs. Should I get it?"

            "That would be most helpful, young lady, thank you," Giles said. The tiny girl ran for her room. "Angel, while we wait, I was wondering if I might ask you … do you have any memories from your time in … well, in Hell?"

            "Wondering if I met Spike's Prince of Lust? Because I did not."

            "Actually, no. We have another problem, involving …" Giles stopped short and looked at Hermione, whose eyes were wide.

            "Professor, it has to be the same. That has to be it."

            "Of course." He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is why Spike is hell-bent, excuse the pun, on finding a soul. No creature without one could banish something of that magnitude."

            "Okay, hold on," Gunn said, "I missed a few steps here. Something of what magnitude?"

            "The Prince of Lust is a Hellspawn of incredible power," Angel explained.

            "Not Hellspawn, Angel. Heavenspawn, if there is such a bloody thing."

            "Now I'm confused. What do you mean?"

            Giles explained the Council's discoveries. "If indeed what they saw was a Shallebite, and few creatures of any demonic persuasion fit that description, than this Prince of Lust almost certainly is a member of the Cadre Caelestis."

            "A Shalle-what?" Gunn asked.

            "Shallebite. They are companions of a sort to the angels. Minions, if you will. Not much is known about them."

            "Why haven't you told Buffy about this?" Angel asked. "Fallen angels – that's very heavy."

            "We can't. One of the rumors that persists in the texts is that if the target of the angel knows that she, or he, is under attack by such a being, they become far more susceptible to the thing's words. What exactly it can do, I have yet to discover, but I assure you it will be nothing good."

            The four of them pondered that in silence until Fred arrived, tape player in hand.

            "I took the time to cue it up. I hope you don't mind?" She handed the player to Angel.

            "Not at all, my dear," Giles said, "Thank you."

            Angel hit play, and the words filtered out.

            _The Prince of Lust has met his match. The witch has brewed her baddest batch. His sword is sharp, and hard as stone._

            Hermione had them play it again as she scribbled the words down.

            "And this was about Spike," Giles said. "Apparently his soul is more important than we thought."

------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: 

I know you've all been wondering when the first one of these babies would pop up. Here it is.

            First off, as always thanks to the many of you who have reviewed. I'm glad you're liking it, and I have to admit the reviews are a big part of what's keeping me going. The ideas are there but the writing's been a wee bit hard to focus on. Eh. It happens. Plus, this is a much more sprawling story than _FTGF_ with a lot more diverse elements. Keeping it all tight is not the easiest thing ever, I'm finding. I think it may be a LOT longer than _FTGF_ unless I expand my chapters, which I likely won't. 1500-2500 words is a good range for me. Still and all, the response is very positive, and we're what … 115 chapters into this story now? And people are still reading (more than a hundred people, judging by the hit count)? That's way flattering. Thanks again (and especially the group of you that review continuously – you know who you are, as do I. You guys are great!).

            Now that I've buttered you up – some bad news. My version of Harry and company will be on a hiatus of at least two or three weeks. Why? Well, simply put, I'm moving 1000 miles north, my new home has no phone or internet access, and even if it did, there's no way I'll have time to write between now and June 26 or June 27. Please check back then, but I won't promise anything before July 1, 2003. I'm sorry for the disruption – believe me when I say no one's more anxious than me to see the rest of this story hit the streets. I'm simply stuck for a place to write, time to write, and a way to upload the stuff. Have no fear, though: IT IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT ABANDONED! I'm dying to tell the rest of the tale – one problem is that I have too many ideas, hence the sprawl. Hang in there, and I'll return, hopefully with a massive ten chapter update at the end of June.

            Oh, and not to tease or anything, but I've been hard at work on a major secret project related to these stories. It'll be … neat. More on that later, though. And by the way, the book referred to in Chapter 24 is Robert Parker's _Promised Land_. If you've never read it (or the other Spenser novels), you're missing some of the best detective fiction ever written.

            Thanks again for your patience. – 40


	26. Secrets Secrets

            "Morning, Gin," Harry said with a smile, leaning down to steal a kiss on the cheek. 

The youngest Weasley accepted with a blush and smiled back. "Morning, Harry."

            "How was your first late night patrol with McGonagall?" He sat down and helped himself to eggs and a small mound of bacon.

            Ginny frowned. "You shouldn't eat so much o' that, Harry. S'not good for you."

            "You sound like mum," Ron said through his own mouthful of bacon. "Let him eat what he wants."

            "She's right, Ron," Hermione said. "You shouldn't, either."

            "Mione…"

            "Don't 'Mione' me. You think I want you having a heart attack at age twenty?"

            Harry, Ginny, and Neville, who was sitting close by, started chuckling, along with Dean and Seamus. Hermione scowled but didn't say anything else.

            When everyone quieted down, Harry looked at Ginny. "So? How'd it go?"

            She cast an eye towards Hermione, who was looking on without the pained expression Ginny expected. She seemed interested.

            "It was okay. Not too exciting. We caught Pansy Parkinson tryin' to sneak off somewhere. I think she was meeting somebody; she had all her makeup on over her pajamas. I dunno who, though."

            Dean leaned in conspiratorially. "We caught her two nights ago, too, except it was on her way back in. Her hair was all mussed and her lips were swollen. I think I know who she was meeting."

            "Who would stupid enough to go an' snog her on the sly?" Ron asked. "I mean, besides the obvious, you'd be riskin' the wrath o' the Death Eaters if you tried to go too far."

            Hermione punched him on the arm, but she laughed along with everyone else.

            "So who was it?" Ginny asked.

            "I think it's Malfoy," Dean said. Only Ginny caught the look that passed between her brother and his two friends. "On my first patrol, we ran into him in the hall. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a goblin horde, an' it wasn't his night to be out in the corridors either."

            "Where'd he say he was?"

            "Said it was Slytherin business, and none of mine."

            "More like giving a Slytherin the business," Seamus said, sending him, Dean, and Neville into another bout of laughter.

            Ron, Harry, and Hermione chuckled along with them, but they continued to look at one another. The night of Dean's first patrol, Willow had put them through a harrying lesson in combat magic. They needed to make sure Malfoy was more careful in the future.

            Watching them, Ginny knew immediately that she had been correct. Something was going on, and Malfoy was a part of it. What the hell could it be?

            And why hadn't Harry told her?

            "Hey," Willow said, dropping into the seat next to Tara, "how's my girl?"

            "Good," Tara said, smiling brightly. She pretended to look around. "Where's your other half?"

            "Not funny," Willow's face turned down in a mock pout, "and besides, we're not always together."

            "Certainly not," Giles said from a few seats down. He hid his mirth behind a forkful of eggs. "I suppose occasionally one of you must use the rest room."

            "You're all just grouchy 'cuz I'm getting good smoochies and you aren't."

            They looked at her in horror.

            "Okay, channeling Anya. Sorry."

            "Please don't do that again," Giles said. "One of them on another continent is more than enough."

            "Is she still giving you Xander updates in her letters, Giles?" Tara asked.

            "Fortunately, no." He smiled faintly; he was rather touched that Anya trusted him enough to confide to him the details of her life, even if said details were more than a bit disturbing. "They seem to be doing better and she feels no need to describe things in any great detail."

            "What about you? Have you fixed things yet?"

            "I talked to Jess the other day, i-if that's what you mean," Tara said, looking uncertain. Giles took that conversation turn as his cue to chat Professor Flitwick up about charming his books to open to the last page he had read. "We're back to friends. She wasn't mad."

            "Of course not. Why would she be mad? And at you, who could be mad at you – you're only the single nicest person on the planet."

            Tara caught the tiny quaver in Willow's voice. To anyone else it would have been imperceptible, but Tara had once earned a graduate degree in Willow Studies. Certain mannerisms she never forgot.

            "W-will, what did you do?"

            "Huh? Do? Me? Nothing. What are you talking about? Why would I do anything, and to who? Y'know, who would I do things to, these things, that I did not do. I mean, I … darnit." Tara's face had gone neutral and Willow knew she was busted. "Okay, I talked to her."

            "A-about what?"

            "You, dummy."

            "What did you say?"

            "Not the – I didn't give away, y'know, IT," she said with a wave of her hands. _It's sort of true, she thought, __since she already knew that part. "I just pried a little. Just to see what was wrong and-and-and get you guys talking again. I knew you were upset."_

            "Y-you should've left it alone."

            "Why? She wanted to talk with you as much as you did with her. She told you that, right?"

            "Yeah," Tara agreed. "Still, it wasn't …"

            "My business, I know, but I hate to see you unhappy, and she was unhappy, which made Grey unhappy, which also made me unhappy, so I took a shortcut and pulled the string and BAM!" She smiled. "No more unhappy."

            Tara laughed; she did appreciate what Willow had done, especially if her romantic notions stayed between the two of them.

            "Bam, huh?"

            "Uh huh. All better."

            "Dammit, Granger, this is risky as hell!"

            "Draco, do be quiet. It's no riskier than you getting caught by Dean Thomas on the way home from one of our sessions. Especially if you don't yell about like an idiot."

            "Heard about that, did you?" He leaned back against one of the sinks in Myrtle's bathroom and smirked. Hermione had hurriedly pulled him inside when no one was looking. "I thought it might be a good idea."

            "Good idea? Are you insane?"

            "Let me guess: Thomas told you that I was snogging Pansy Parkinson in some dark corner, right?"

            "Yes, that's exactly it."

            "Good. That's what I wanted him to think."

            "That's what you … what did you tell Pansy?"

            "Not the truth. I'm no fool, Granger. Pansy thinks I've been practicin' some dark rituals at night on Snape's orders. We both needed cover, and we've got it."

            "Both needed … who is she with?"

            "It's best that you don't know that." Malfoy blanched at the thought; Hermione couldn't imagine who the mystery man might be that would evoke that reaction. "Best that I don't know it either, frankly, though I do."

            "How come she needed cover? She's a prefect."

            "Despite what you've heard, we're not entirely allowed to come and go at will. Especially in Slytherin house. The Dark Lord likes to be able to call upon his minions at a moment's notice."

            "So Snape thinks that you and Pansy are …"

            "He knows the truth, but Pansy and I are allowed our 'private' time for her benefit. She doesn't know what he knows."

            "That's fairly ingenious, Draco," Hermione said, her voice tinged with awe. "I'm impressed."

            "Well, gee, Granger, my week is made." She frowned. "Just know that you lot don't need to keep tabs on me. I'm a Malfoy."

            She cocked her head, her eyes probing him thoughtfully. "Not like the others."

            "Same as the others," he said, "just a little twisted. Now get going, before someone notices you've gone missing."

            "What about you?"

            "I'm a Malfoy. I go where I want."

            Hermione nodded. "Well, see you tonight, then." She left the room.

            Draco decided he would take the opportunity and use the loo before he left, since the bathroom was empty. He glanced around for Myrtle, and, not seeing her, opened his robes. Just as he stepped towards one of the toilets, a voice startled him near to death.

            "You do know this is a girl's bathroom, don't you, Malfoy?"

            "Huh?" He spun around, hurriedly rezipping his fly. "Norton? What the hell are you doing in here?" Then he realized she had heard his conversation with Hermione and his already white face went ashen.

            "I think the question is," the blonde girl said, slipping out from the stall she had been hidden in, "what was that about? You and Granger?" Mel narrowed her eyes, her fury palpable. "You I expect that from. But her … Ron will be devastated."

            Draco let out the breath he had been holding. She thought he and Granger … he almost laughed at the crazy insinuation, even though objectively he found Hermione quite fetching. The girl had developed impressively, but Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger? Together? Utterly absurd.

"What do you care? Fancy Weasley, do you?"

            "He is somewhat studly, but no. Not in the least. He's on my Quidditch team, and I protect my own."

            "So what are you gonna do? Tell him?"

            "No." She walked up and leaned into Draco's face. "You'll stop seeing her. As of tonight."

            "Or what?"

            "Or Slytherin house gets a front row seat to your next consort with the enemy. How would your Dark Lord feel about that?"

            Draco's face curled into a sinister grin. "Look who isn't the goody-goody Gryffindor."

            "I do what I have to for the win. If that includes ratting out an evil snake to all his snake friends and getting him cut up into little snake parts, well, call it a bonus. I could give a shit about your stupid Slytherin power games."

            Draco laughed. "I like that, Norton. You're a right evil bitch. Go ahead. Just so you know, it won't work."

            "Why not? Think all your snake pals will stand by you when you're banging the opposition?"

            "No." He sneered at her in triumph. "Since I'm not, though, it's a bit of a moot point. Think about it, you twit. Were I banging Granger under Weasley's nose, don't you think I might have stolen a little something right then? Maybe not a quickie, but certainly a passionate embrace. C'mon now, in a bathroom no one uses, middle of the day an' all? Very naughty. Too tempting to resist."

            Mel looked him over carefully, then nodded. "I suppose that's true."

            "She's ass over teakettle for Weasley anyway, and there's no cheatin' bones in her body. Besides, I'd never go for one o' you Gryff morons."

            "Oh really?" She suddenly smiled at him in a way he had never seen before on her. 

Seductively. 

Draco fought the urge to tug at his collar as she advanced towards him and put a tiny hand on his chest. Norton was a beauty, no doubt about that, and now she was suddenly flaunting it at him? Whether she was a Gryff or not, he was a man. He didn't have the ability to resist a beautiful girl throwing herself at him, and he had no illusions about it. 

The seductive smile never wavered as she spoke. 

"None of us? A handsome piece like you must've thought about it once or twice." She closed on him and put her mouth to his ear. "I mean, if there was ever a snake who could get into a lion's pants," she whispered, "wouldn't it be you, Draco?"

            Stunned, he could only stand stock-still and blink. Whatever perfume she used, and he had never smelled anything like it before, threatened to drive him mad. She didn't wear much, but he was close enough that the scent assaulted his nostrils and he had to restrain the sudden urge to find out if she tasted as good as she smelled.

            Mel pulled away and laughed.

            "Don't worry. I don't think it would be you. Certainly not if I'm the lion."

            She stepped around him, the joy of taunting a Slytherin clearly evident on her face, and walked towards the door. Incensed, he grabbed her and yanked her back against the wall.

            "What makes you think you can do that?" His voice was a harsh rasp.

            "D-do what?" The haughtiness vanished the minute he touched her. Suddenly she was just a frightened girl, trapped alone with a much larger and very angry man whose best quality was his loyalty to an evil cause.

            "Just walk out of here after accusing me of that and then throwing yourself in my face?"

            "D-Draco, please…" A tear leaked out of her right eye and dribbled down her chin.

            "Please what?"

            "Please don't hurt me," she begged.

            He released her arm and took a step back. What the hell … she thought he would do that? Then he realized how the situation must have seemed to her, and fought his anger back down.

            "Norton … Melissa," he said, his voice silky and more tender than she had ever thought possible, "despite what you might have heard about Malfoys in general and myself in particular, I never take what is not freely given. I didn't mean to give you that impression. I only grabbed you because I can't have you leave without knowing what you'll say to the other Slytherins."

She stood up straighter and wiped the tear from her face.

            "What's going on between you and Hermione?"

            "I can't tell you that. It has nothing to do with snogging, humping, or any other sort of physical activity that requires or leads to nudity. Granger and I are not getting it on."

            She giggled as the tension leaked out of her. "You're not quite what you seem to be, Malfoy."

            "Says the girl who threatened to get me killed for cheating on her teammate."

            "Killed?"

            "Come on, Norton, what did you think they'd do? Put me in rehab? That's for Gryff witches, not Slytherin princes."

            She pondered that. "You really can't tell me what's going on?"

            "No," he said, a dark look on his face. "It's for your own safety. If you even breathe a word of this meeting to anyone, both Granger and I would be at serious risk. How would that go over with your team? Think Potter and Weasley might be a tad upset?"

            She nodded. "I won't say anything about this. I swear. I can't have Ron and Harry hurt. Without them I wouldn't be Quidditch captain. If you demand it, I'll even take a blood oath, but on one condition."

            "What?"

            "Someday, when it makes no difference, you'll tell me."

            "Fine, but I don't need a damn blood oath. I know you keep your word."

            "Can I go now?" The haughtiness returned to her face.

            "Yeah. I've got to use the loo, anyhow."

            She laughed as she walked away. When her hand touched the doorknob, she turned back.

            "Malfoy?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Nice to know you're more than just an evil snake. Even if you are a handsome one."

            She left before she heard Draco's mumbled reply.

            "Nice to know you're more than just a whiny Gryff, but what the hell was that smell?"


	27. Paired Off

            "They're having you sit in too, huh?"

            Hermione looked up from her book. Grey had fallen into step with her on the way out of Potions.

            "Yes, they are. How did you know?"

            He pointed at the book with a smile. The words _Magical Symbiosis: A Study in Parallel_ had been engraved in gilt lettering on the spine.

            "Oh, yes, well, I've been reading up on this for some time. Professor Giles even owled me books over the summer."

            "And the verdict?"

            "I don't know." The dilemma obviously bothered her. He wanted to laugh at her furrowed brow; she seemed so serious for someone so young. "I understand about Willow and Tara, with the Hellmouth and all, but there's no logical reason why Tara and Jess should have symbiotic magic. They come from wildly disparate backgrounds, their training was completely different, and their specialties are nothing alike."

            Grey stopped dead in his tracks. Hermione kept walking for several steps before she noticed, and then she stopped as well.

            "What is it?"

            "Hermione, think about what you just said. They're nothing alike."

            "I know, that's the problem. Everything about them is so different…" Her eyes widened as her voice trailed off. She suddenly saw where his mind had gone.

            "What if I told you that the first time we saw their magic together, Jess's eyes went all black and Tara's went all white?"

            "Tara specializes in healing and defense. Light magic."

            "Jess specializes in combat and illusion. Dark magic."

            "Tara trained to keep people from harm."

            "Jess trained to harm their attackers."

            "Tara is mostly timid, but she can be forceful if she needs to be."

            "Jess is very outgoing, but there are times when she hides completely."

            "Tara has blonde hair and pale skin."

            "Jess has dark hair and darker skin."

            "Oh my god," they said in unison.

            "You don't think … could they be?" Hermione asked in a hushed tone.

            "Maybe." Grey bit his lip. "Hermione, don't say anything to them just now."

            "Why not? I would think…"

            "We can test it without them knowing. If they really are, it could complicate things."

            "Isn't this a great thing? It's very rare."

            Grey glanced around; they were alone in the hallway. "If I tell you some things, and you can't say a word about them to anyone, will you keep them secret? This is very important to me. Normally, I wouldn't say anything because it involves the private lives of the faculty, but I trust you. Will you keep it to yourself?" Hermione nodded. "Tara … she's interested in Jess."

            "Well, of course she … oh." Her mouth dropped open. "She fancies her, you mean."

            "Yes."

            "Except you dated Jess. Doesn't that mean … doesn't she like boys?"

            Grey smiled. He could see her making the effort to process all of this. "She does, but she and Willow had a conversation the other night. We think she might be wavering towards liking both. More specifically, towards liking Tara."

            He paused, and Hermione saw a faraway look in his eyes that she interpreted as guilt.

            "I very much want Jess to be happy, Hermione, and she isn't. I think Tara would make her happy, and so does Willow. We can't force it, though, or she'll run on us." Seeing the look on her face, he added, "Emotionally, not physically. I would never try and push her into something she didn't want. She needs time before she's ready to date anyone again, let alone Tara."

            "So you think if we tell her that she and Tara are soul mates, she'll perhaps not accept it favorably in her personal life. That makes sense," she said, her expression pensive. "I assume you'll try and find a way to speed things along? That is, after all, something you and Willow excel at," she added, thinking of Ron.

            "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a very clever witch, Hermione?"

            She blushed. "Maybe once or twice."    

            "This isn't enough on it's own to prove it. Could just be a large coincidence."

            "Then how d'you explain the magic?"

            Grey frowned. "I can't. We need some sort of …"

            "Conclusive test?" He nodded. "I'll look for one in the library, and also for what this might mean. It's possible there are other ramifications, if it's true."

            "You have time to do all that?"

            "I'll make time. It is potentially quite important, isn't it? More than silly charms or potion recipes, at any rate."

            "Now there's something I never thought I'd hear you say," he said with a grin. The grin turned into a chuckle, and then the chuckle became a laugh as Hermione stood there scowling at him.

            Grey and Hermione arrived at Professor McGonagall's office ten minutes later. Giles, Jess, and Tara had already arrived.

            "About time," Giles said. "I thought the two of you would never arrive."

            "Sorry," Grey replied with a grin. "It's Hermione. She's sooo slow."

            "Grey!" Hermione hissed. He had said that to two professors. "That's not true!"

            The others laughed, even McGonagall. The professors were finally getting used to Grey's new playful nature, and they privately agreed it was a significant improvement.

            "So what's it gonna be today?" Jess asked after everyone had settled down. "Elements? Illusions? Charms?"

            "Sorry, Jessica. None of those," McGonagall said. "Today we're going to test something a bit different. I thought we might engage in a bit of a role reversal and see how well you think on your feet."

            "Are y-you sure about that, Professor?" Tara asked.

            "Yes, my dear, I'm quite sure. Don't worry – I'm certain we'll have no problems."

            Hermione leaned over to Grey and whispered, "That will require more power from them both, because they aren't used to it." 

He nodded and whispered back, "Better get your wand out, just in case they pull out a little too much." His hand brushed against his lightsaber, making sure his draw was clear. Hermione laid her wand on the table in front of her.

"Now," McGonagall was saying over them, "what we will do is simple." She lifted her wand and dozens of unoccupied desks slid into neat rows along the wall of her classroom. The arrangement left a large open square in the center. "Each of you will stand on one side of this space. Here we have two boxes," two large wooden trunks rose from behind her desk and floated across the room; one landed near Jess and the other near Tara, who had moved to opposite sides of the square, "filled with trinkets. Junk, mostly. Nothing remotely useful."

            "Oh, I understand," Giles muttered. Hermione and Grey both looked at him. "This is called Argero's Task." When neither of them recognized the name, he gestured to the floor. "Just watch."

            "When I say to begin, each of you will select your first item from the trunk. Tara, you will go first. I would like you to transfigure whatever item you remove from the trunk into an offensive weapon. It can be of any sort you wish, but it must be able to attack Jessica on its own." She turned to the other girl. "Jessica, once Tara has finished, you will do the same, but your object must be defensive in nature and able to stop Tara's object. The test ends either when one of Tara's objects gets through, or she runs out of objects."

            "B-b-but if mine gets through, she c-could be hurt. I c-can't…"

            "I'll be fine, Tara," Jess said. "I can defend myself in other ways if I've already lost. Trust me. I was an auror, remember?"

            "Oh, r-right."

            "Yes, and I'll be here to help," McGonagall said. "Don't worry about that. Just focus on the task at hand. You may begin at your leisure, Tara." 

She waved her wand again, and the trunks snapped open. Both girls looked inside; the trunks were indeed filled with knickknacks and junk. Tara reached in and pulled out a pawn from a battered set of wizard's chess. Jess picked out a broken comb that was missing half its teeth.

            A crafty smile slid onto Tara's face. She tossed the pawn into the air.

            "_Superas ad auras_," she said.

            The pawn halted in midair, spinning in a circle as it began to glow. As it turned white, Jess recognized the spell and gripped the comb tightly.

            "_Scutum crystalli_," she muttered, waving her wand with her other hand.

            The comb in her hand expanded, but before Hermione could get a decent glimpse of what it had become, a bright flash of light made everyone on Tara's side of the room look away. When she cleared the spots from her eyes, Hermione saw Jess across the room smiling.

            "Nice try, hon," she said as she tossed a shield made of crystal to the side and pulled a cracked water goblet from the trunk.

            "I-it was." Tara pulled a frayed ball of yarn from her own box and tossed it on the floor in front of her. "Nice shield."

            "What did Tara do?" Hermione asked. 

Giles leaned over. "She turned that pawn into a beam of light. A very clever first move, but Jess's counter was perfect. The crystal refracted the light. If she had not, it would have blinded her and allowed Tara to get in a free second shot. This should be a fascinating contest, if that's the start."

            Hermione looked nervous as Tara raised her wand again. Grey touched her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. They can take care of themselves, and Tara's the one on the offensive. I doubt she'd do anything too vicious."

            "_Colossus cataphractae_," Tara said. Her wand moved, but nothing happened. "_Colossus cataphractae_," she repeated. The yarn remained yarn. "Have to try that one later," she mumbled, "_Oblimo_."

            The room stank of burning sulfur; the yarn dissolved rapidly into a purple puddle. Tara gestured with her wand and it oozed across the floor towards Jess. An irregular black smear trailed along behind it.

            "Yuck," Jess muttered as the pseudopods pulled it across the room. "_Excoquo_," she said, tossing the goblet into the air. It burst into a pile of white dust that landed on the slime with a loud hissing sound. The purple mass curdled and halted.

            "Baking soda?" Tara asked. Jess just smirked. "Nice."

            "The slime is acidic," Grey said, his wonder plainly evident.

            "Baking soda is a base," Hermione finished. "But they don't have it in the wizarding world, do they? How did she know about it?"

            "No," Grey agreed, "but she spent some time with me, remember? I'm more muggle than wizard anyway. She went through a phase where she wanted to know all about muggle household things, for when we moved in together." He gave her a small grin. "So I could help out around the house, you know?"

            Hermione laughed. They turned back to the floor, watching with only an occasional comment as Jess and Tara made their way through the piles of junk. Tara proved to be as clever on the offensive as anyone might have hoped, while Jess appeared equally masterful as the size of Tara's attacks escalated.

            "They're both quite good," Giles remarked to McGonagall as they neared the end of the exercise.

            "Of course they are, Rupert," she said, slightly offended, "I trained them both quite thoroughly this summer, and Jessica a long while before that. Though I must say their improvisation is quite excellent. I would not have thought of turning a tea cozy into a self-binding net," she said, pointing to where Jess had turned an old fork into an evil-looking dagger and was cutting her way out of the net.

            After thirty minutes of moves and countermoves, Tara reached into the box and pulled out the final object: the metal front piece of a massive crossbow.

            She tossed it on the ground in front of her and looked at Jess. The Irish girl was stunned by the evil glint in Tara's clear eyes.

            Tara kneeled down in front of it and focused, feeling around the edges of the wealth of power she stored within her. She closed her eyes and raised her wand, willing the power to flow through her arms and out the tip of the wand. She had never tried this before, pulling on the power she had used in last year's crisis but directing it through the wand.

            _That's what this is for, though_, she mused,_ testing my limits. Here goes._

            She opened her eyes; Jess saw immediately that they were milky white. She gripped the broken clock in her hand so hard that the face cut into her skin. What was Tara doing?

            "_Colossus cataphractae_," she said again, motioning with her wand. A beam of orange light shot from the tip, and the crossbow started to grow and change.

            Hermione gulped audibly as the crossbow took on human form. When the orange glow receded, she saw that the thing was made entirely of metal but as big and powerful as a grown man.

            "Attack," Tara said calmly, pointing at her opponent.

            "A golem! Tara!" Giles cried out. McGonagall pulled her wand as the metal golem advanced on Jess.

            Jess didn't panic. She tossed the clock onto the floor in front of it, reaching down at the same instant to pull some of her own power to the fore. Her eyes turned black, but she didn't notice in the midst of channeling the power into her wand.

            "_Invitamentum_," she said. A stream of light shot from her wand to the clock and held, connecting the two without changing the clock into anything. 

            "Damn," Grey said, coming off the chair and pulling his lightsaber in one smooth motion. Hermione snatched her wand from the desk and cleared her mind.

            The metal golem got as far as the clock. It halted in mid-stride, one gleaming leg sticking awkwardly out in mid-air. Beads of sweat formed on Jess's forehead as she strained to hold it. The golem quivered but remained still for what seemed like hours, though in reality it was about thirty seconds.

            As abruptly as it had frozen, it toppled over and its head broke off on the classroom floor.

            Jess dropped to a knee, her breath coming in heaving gasps. Tara hurried across the room.

            "A-are you okay? I'm really sorry. I wouldn't have let it actually hit you."

            Jess looked up, her eyes still as black as Tara's were white. "No worries, hon. Part o' the game. 'Sides, you didn't think a golem'd beat me, did you?"

            "Not really, n-no," Tara admitted. "I kind of wanted to see if I could do that, though."

            "That could not have been an actual golem, Tara," McGonagall said as the others encircled them. Concerned looks rained down on the two girls. "Those are very complicated pieces of magic."

            "N-no, professor, it wasn't. Just a construct made out of metal."

            "What's the difference?" Grey asked.

            "Golems can take orders and act independently," Hermione informed him. She gave Tara a questioning glance. "How were you controlling it?"

            "W-willpower. Like when I make pencils float."

            "Bloody adept of you, Tara," Giles said. "That was good work. As was your method of stopping it," he added to Jess. "I assume you turned the clock into a magnet."

            "Yep," Jess said. As she smiled, her eyes reverted to green. "Took some extra power, but nothin' I couldn't handle."

            "Same with me," Tara agreed. "Th-though I g-guess I don't usually get out of control. Did my eyes…?"

            "They did," Grey said. "I guess it makes sense that you both went monochrome, since you probably had to use the same amount of power as Tara did, Jess."

            "Yes," Giles agreed, "sort of like a looking glass. One spell a reflection of the other."

            Hermione and Grey traded a look, but neither one said anything.


	28. The False Disciple

            "Longbottom, how is it that …"

            Snape trailed off as he caught Tara glaring at him. Doe eyes or not, he found the girl's stare more than a bit unnerving.

            "… Never mind." He stared at the steaming orange mess in Neville's cauldron. "Start over. The satyr's hoof is too valuable to add to that bit of soup. Pay closer attention when you simmer the lacewing on the next attempt, or Gryffindor will lose points. Is that clear?"

            "Yes, Professor," Neville said. Competent though he might be getting at fighting, he was still terrible at potions, he thought as he poured the cauldron out into the disposal. At least now Snape only provoked mild trembles in him when the Potions Master hovered over his cauldron.

            Snape glanced at Tara, whose glare had been replaced with a sweet smile. Damn that girl. This was his classroom and he taught as he bloody well pleased. At least he had, until Dumbledore insisted he accommodate her wishes so that relations between them appeared harmonious. _Ridiculous. Bloody war strategy in the bloody classroom_, he mentally cursed as he turned back to the other students.

            "I think Snape's got a thing for our new Deputy," Pansy Parkinson whispered to Malfoy. "Did you see how she backed him off Longbottom with a look? That's twice this week after three times last week, all with bloody Gryffindors."

            Draco restrained a groan. Snape had decided that he should partner with Pansy to reinforce their charade. On her own, she had decided to befriend Draco. He was certain it was because she believed it could benefit her that he had returned to favor with certain dark wizards, including his father. The girl was a menace, though: truly annoying and extremely dim. And she refused to stop talking to him about the most inane things. If not for the needed cover, he might have thrashed her just to shut her the hell up.

            "Snape. Pah," he spat. "Not likely, Parkinson. Now hand me the crushed beetle eyes and quiet down."

            A knock on the door gave him pause. The heavy wooden plank swung open, revealing the arrogant, blonde-haired figure of Lucius Malfoy. With the silver top of his cane, he rapped the door once more.

            "Lucius," Snape said, stepping forward and shaking the man's hand. "Welcome to my class. What brings you to Hogwarts?"

            "I'm sorry to interrupt, Severus," he said, though he sounded not at all sorry, "but I need a few private words with my son. Some … urgent family business that could not wait."

            Snape nodded his understanding. "Use my office. Take as long as you like."

            "Thank you, professor. Draco?" Draco rose and walked to the door to Snape's private office. As Lucius strode down the aisles between desks, he stopped next to Ron and Harry.

"My my, young Weasley," he said, sneering distastefully at Ron's cauldron. It had belonged to Bill and Charlie before him and appeared worse for the wear. Malfoy poked it lightly with his cane. "Isn't that one of the shoddy imports that your older brother was on about in the Daily Prophet last year? A shame your father can't even afford to impose proper Ministry standards on his own household."

            As Lucius walked away, Harry's firm grip on Ron's hand was all that kept him in his seat. Ron's ears had gone bright red, and Harry knew that he nearly had steam coming from them.

            "That son of a …"

            "Mr. Weasley," Snape said, his black cloak suddenly filling Ron's vision, "I suggest strongly that you attend to that disaster you call an Ale of Engorgement, rather than do something rash." Ron looked up at him angrily, but leaned back in his seat. "Five points from Gryffindor."

            "For what?" He bit off the words and Harry pulled harder on his arm, hoping to remind his friend who he was talking to.

            "For improperly respecting a visitor, and another five for questioning me. Now, would you care to make it twenty five and a detention?"

            "No, professor, he really wouldn't. Would you, Ron?"

            Ron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'greasy git' but shook his head. "No, professor."

            "A wise choice." Snape spun and walked away, the twirl hiding his satisfied smirk from Tara's angry gaze.

            "Are you insane?" Harry whispered.

            "Damn Malfoys. I wish…"

            "Look," Harry cut him off, his voice harsh, "settle down, alright? Whatever he's telling Draco, we need to know. You getting into a duel with him in Potions won't help anyone."

            Ron gave him a sour look as he nodded. "Fine. I just hate those ruddy bastards, you know?"

            "Don't worry. We'll add a second ferret to the family some day soon."

            Despite his anger, Ron couldn't help but giggle at that.

            Lucius shut the door to Snape's office and cast an isolation charm on the room. No one outside would hear anything that went on, nor would anyone be able to open the door until he released it.

            "You look … well," he said stiffly to Draco, who stood ramrod straight on the other side of the room.

            "Thank you, sir."

            "Grades?"

            "Excellent, sir."

            "Good, Draco, very good. Your mother sends her best, of course. She wishes you would write her a bit more."

            "I'll do that."

            Lucius nodded. He set his cane in front of him, folding both hands over the silver snake head. Draco marveled at how regal his father could look when he wasn't robed and masked and sneaking around killing muggles.

            "Do you recall the talk we had at the end of your summer holiday?"

            "I do."

            "And you remain committed to offering me your assistance?"

            "Of course, father." Draco stilled the urge to shift about.

            "I am pleased to hear that." He glanced around at the ingredients and books that lined Snape's office walls. "This is a busy time for us. A great many things are happening, and the Dark Lord wishes to ensure that nothing unforeseen deters them. He has left it to me to ensure that Potter and his band of fools do not damage our pursuit of his greater goals. What would you say would be the best way to do such a thing, Draco?"

            "Distract them," he replied instantly. "Give them something to deal with that will put them off the other scent."

            Lucius's gaze returned to his son; the right side of his mouth twitched upward.

            "Very good, boy. Very good. I have been entertaining the same thought, and I have an assignment for you." Draco listened attentively as his father explained what he wanted Draco to do. "Tell me, can you manage that?"

            Draco offered an evil smile. "You have no idea how easy it will be."

            The fire crackled in Snape's hearth. Tara's brow wrinkled as she went over everything Draco had just explained. Snape paced back and forth next to her, the moving flames casting irregular Snape-sized shadows on the wall of his dormitory. Draco sat unmoving, waiting to hear their response.

            "You've brought us an interesting problem, haven't you, Draco? How do you fail without failing? Interesting," Snape mused.

            "I can't simply fail outright. I'm no good to us if I appear incompetent on my first assignment. Then there's the issue of Voldemort's agent. Whoever it is, they'll catch on quick if we use false bait."

            "M-maybe w-we should talk to Dumbledore," Tara suggested.

            "I will," Snape said, "after we've determined a course of action for young Malfoy here."

            "The first Hogsmeade visit is two weeks from Saturday. You were going anyway, right, Draco?"

            "Of course," he said. "I've gotten addicted to those damn jelly slugs," he muttered under his breath. "I can direct the attack. It shouldn't be hard to find a bunch of mudbloods to hit, not in this school."

            "Draco!" Tara shouted. "Th-that term i-i-is not to be used." He swore she growled at him. "Is that clear?"

            "Fine," Draco said petulantly.

            "Miss Maclay, I hardly think we have time for a lesson in semantics," Snape said dismissively. "How do you propose we convince your co-conspirators, who I am certain will come from this house, not to harm anyone?"

            "Tell 'em we're lookin' for a good scare, rile up the populace, that kind of thing. They'll know that severely hurting people'll only get us caught." He looked Snape in the eye. "I'll choose them carefully, so that they listen."

            "Who?"

            "Zabini. Nott. Oh, and Parkinson, of course. She'd love a chance to do dirty deeds with me." He shook his head. "We never should've gotten that dumb chit involved in anything. She's damn annoying."

            Snape looked at Draco impassively, and the boy knew he was holding in a smirk.

            "Very well. Do not tell Potter or his ilk anything until afterwards."

            "Why not?" Tara asked.

            "The point is to distract and confuse them. This way, they'll look very distracted and confused." Snape's lip curled up into a sneer. He couldn't resist toying with the Gryffindors a little, allies or not. "It has to appear authentic, does it not?"

            Tara clearly didn't approve, but she nodded anyway.

******************************

Author's Note:

            Okay, I finally have access to a computer again. For how long, who knows? I'll update as much as I can as soon as I can, but it will be erratic throughout July. I know I promised ten chapters and only posted three – I decided good was better than fast. The others are nearly ready, so sometime in the next week I'll add more. Thanks for your patience!

            One important thing – part of the delay came from me reading Order of the Phoenix cover to cover. I thought a lot about what that meant for this story since, and if you've read it you know that it shakes things up a bit. What I decided was this: for now, I'm gonna drop in minor things from it (spells, possibly gags from the Weasleys, that sort of thing). Major stuff, obviously, doesn't apply, since I'm way out in left field here. Some characters from there may appear here, as well (since they add so many to work with). 

To sum up: I'll write with an eye towards those who haven't read it as much as I can, but be warned: some spoilers will appear.

            Once again, thanks for your patience. – 40 


	29. Hello to the Cult Guys I: Getting to Kno...

            "So? What d'you think?" George waved his hand in the air for emphasis.

            "Um … interesting."

            "I'm with Dawn." Buffy tried to add a false look of approval. "I mean, it's nice. Really."

            "You tell 'im, B. Lots of sincerity there. Personally, I like it. It's wicked noticeable."

            "So was Liberace," Spike said through a cigarette, "who must've made his way back from bein' staked to help with that thing."

            "Liberace got turned?" Buffy asked.

            "Uh huh. Wouldn'ta done it myself, but there ya go. Dru always wanted to. Y'know who else she wanted to turn? That guy who plays the Joker on that old Batman show."

            "Cesar Romero?"

            "That's right, nibblet. She wanted to turn him. As the Joker, though, not as himself."

            "You know you're fuckin' whack for dating that loony, right?" Faith asked playfully.

            Before he could retort, Anya walked into the training room, her head still turned to the sales floor. "Is it ready yet? Because Xander and Fred are ready to put it out … oh." She glanced at the display.

            George had constructed a box with eight cubbyholes to fit inside the advertising display. A glittering golden starburst surrounded the maroon box on three sides. Across the top, in giant maroon letters, were the words 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' and in smaller print beneath it, 'Magical Fun for the Whole Family'. Underneath the words were life-size images of Fred and George from the shoulder up; the images held wands that moved back and forth across the display, emitting flashes of colored light at each side.

            "You like it?" George asked hopefully.

            "You didn't leave anywhere to put the prices."

            George smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pink candy. He tossed it into the box. A small panel appeared at the top of the opening. He tapped the panel with his wand. "Ten for three dollars or forty cents each." In gold script, the words "10/$3 or $0.40 per" wrote themselves out on the panel.

            Dawn let out a squeal. "That is so cool, George."

            He looked at Anya. "When the last one gets taken, the panel disappears and you can put anything you want in the box. What d'you think?"

            She frowned. "We'll put them out for a week and see how we do. But not those toffee-things. The last thing we want is someone eating one in the store and having a giant tongue flapping everywhere. Disgusting."

            George shrugged and dropped the ton-tongue toffee back in his pocket.

            "Anya, how are you explaining the things their gags can do without saying that they're magic?" Dawn asked, her face screwed up pensively.

            "If somebody asks, I'll just say we're only the distributor and they'll have to ask the nice little boys and girls in Asia who put them together. What?" The others, except for Spike, wore expressions of horror. "It's not like that's where they really came from, is it?"

            "Isn't she something?" Xander said, coming in from the main room and giving Anya a one-handed squeeze. "It's a magic shop, Dawnie. Don't worry about it."

            "Lotta people you get in here aren't muggles anyway," Fred said, stepping in behind Xander. "They've just got illusions on. Sometimes the details aren't right and you can tell."

            "You'll have to point them out to me, Fred," Anya said. "I think we could market differently to that crowd, don't you? I mean, we could…"

            Xander cut her off. "An, honey, later, okay? For now let's just get the display up."

            The cave reeked of death.

            The blonde man, in his shadow form, stood at the entrance allowing the enticing aroma to tease his sense of smell.

            "I do so love a party," he said gleefully to Recks, whose beak bobbed up and down in agreement. It had taken them the better part of three weeks to find this particular group. The two of them floated forward, making their way to a large chamber filled with men in grimy, blood-covered white robes, all on their knees, all chanting in an extinct language. They watched the men bow low as their high priest, his robes colored black and his long white beard flecked with red, made his way in from an adjoining chamber.

            The blonde man and Recks remained hidden as the priest dragged in a young girl, no more than ten years old. Her clothing looked worn and tattered, her face blood-stained, and her eyes completely vacant. Whatever had been done to the girl, it had completely destroyed her mind. The priest kicked her to the floor. Her limp body came to rest in the center of a pentagram drawn in what looked to be blood.

            Beginning from the back, the chanting restarted, this time louder and frenzied. Dark energy flooded the room; the blonde man drank it in.

            "This is what I love about the Hellmouth," he said to Recks. None of the others could hear him. "These fools are competent with mundane tasks, but even though they have no hope of summoning any sort of demon, they try anyway." His shadow form sneered. "Fortunately we only need them for the mundane. I think they will do quite well at that."

            Atop the pentagram, the girl let out a blood-curdling scream. The blonde man smiled.

            "Yes, they will do quite well indeed."

            Faith dropped backwards into the chair, resting her elbows on the back as she stared at Spike.

            After a minute, he looked away from the text in his hand.

            "Yeah?"

            "Nothing. Just marveling at the book nerd vampire."

            He snorted dismissively and went back to the book.

            "Find anything yet, goldilocks?"

            "Not a damn thing, Slayer. An' I'm not findin' more with you staring at me like that."

            "Somebody's touchy. What about you, D? Anything on this creep the Godfather mentioned?"

            "Uh uh," she said, not even bothering to glance up.

            Faith waited a minute more, but it was clear no one had anything to say to her, so she extricated herself from the chair and wandered into the training room. The rhythmic pounding of Buffy's fists on the heavy bag greeted her.

            She watched the blonde slayer in silence for a few minutes. The girl had grown stronger, faster, and better while Faith had wallowed in prison. Lifting weights and fighting burly ladies was not an effective substitute for battling Hellgods and government robots.

            "She is good, Miss Faith. I'se never seen anyone like her," Dobby said with a tug at Faith's pant leg. "And last year Dobby and Winky got to watch Mister Spike fight the Jedi."

            "She's impressive," Faith agreed quietly, though she didn't know what Jedi Dobby might be referring to. Probably some wizard baddie Spike had taken down.

            The thumping ceased. "Are you complimenting me, Faith?"

            "Maybe." Faith walked around to the other side of the bag. "You seem a little tense," she added as Buffy started hitting it again. "Wanna go for a real release?"

            "Not … that … I … don't … find … you … attractive," Buffy said. punctuating each word with a punch, "but I didn't do enough time in the ladies prison to really swing that way."

            Faith laughed. "Me either, B. I meant sparring. You game?"

            Buffy stared at her blankly for almost a full minute.

            "Show me what you got," she said finally, shucking her training gloves and moving to the center of the room.

            Faith ditched her denim jacket. "You better get out of the way, Mighty Mouse. Could get ugly."

            "Yes, Miss Faith," Dobby said, scrambling up one of the practice dummies and perching on its head. 

He watched with wide eyes as Faith and Buffy began to circle one another. Faith waited patiently for Buffy to move, knowing that the blonde would expect her to attack. The first blow came quite suddenly, a right roundhouse kick moving so fast that Buffy's leg blurred. Faith caught it on her left forearm; she slipped in with a right-left-right combination that Buffy blocked with the edges of her hands.

            At that point, the scuffle started in earnest.

            Dobby alternated between gasping and peeking out from behind his hands as the two girls careened around the training room. Faith realized quickly that she had been right: Buffy was much better, and she was outclassed. She focused on dodging and counterattacking, letting Buffy set the pace but never establish a rhythm.

            "You got good, B," Faith said as they traded blows, "better than the King of Brood, even."

            "I've always been better than Angel."

            "Well, you're a lot better now."

            "Is there a reason you're being like this?" Buffy asked, retreating behind a leg sweep and a left elbow-right jab combination.

            "Just making conversation." Buffy grunted as Faith connected with a punch to her ribs. "Speaking of vampires, what's up with you and the dye job? Things seem pretty tense for two people in love."

            Buffy jerked to a halt.

            "He told you we're in love?"

            "Uh uh. Told me he was. I guessed the other half."

            "You're way wrong, and even if you weren't, my life is none of your business."

            "Whoa-hoa. Grrr," she said, putting a right hook into Buffy's stomach. "Hit a nerve, did I?"

            Buffy drove her back with two right jabs. "You wish. I'm not discussing my love life with a murderer."

            Faith responded with a mock pout and flurry of kicks. "Don't dodge the subject with a weak shot like that, B. It lacks class."

            "Oh, you're lecturing me on class? That's rich."

            "I'm just saying," she grunted as they exchanged blocked punches, "he's a hunk, you've gotta go with me there."

            For a brief second, Faith saw a flash of the high school Buffy as the blonde Slayer smiled and said, "you should see him naked." Then she remembered herself and threw another combination at Faith's head.

            "I heard that. Don't think I didn't. Maybe I should take him for a test run, you know? If you don't love him, I …"

            She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Dobby squeaked with horror as Buffy launched herself at Faith, fists and elbows flying, and sent the younger slayer rocketing into the far wall. The loud impact brought Spike and Dawn rushing into the room.

            "Oy! What the hell are you chits doin'?" He saw Faith crumpled against the wall and Buffy looming over her. "Dammit, Buffy, I told you…"

            "It's okay, Spike," Faith said from the floor, "sparring got a little outta hand. No big."

            "You're alright?" Dawn asked. She had taken a new liking to Faith after the incident at the mall.

            "Five by five, D. You guys get back to your research, huh? The sooner you're done, the less pounding B here has time to do on my very attractive person."

            They both nodded, Spike added a glare at Buffy, and he and Dawn left the room. Faith struggled to her feet, trying to get her wind back.

            "I wasn't serious, B. Even if I was, and the bleached wonder wouldn't drive me bonkers in about ten minutes, I wouldn't do that to you. Not now."

            Buffy regarded the other girl carefully. With her avoiding Spike at all costs, and Spike and Dawn in full research mode anyway, she had been spending a lot more time with Faith than she wanted to. She wasn't nearly ready to agree that the rogue slayer had been brought back to the fold, but she had a hard time suppressing the momentary flashes that had once convinced her that she and Faith could be good friends.

            Like now.

            "I know," Buffy said softly, wishing she could retract her fit of rage. Instead, she let a small piece of her heart slip. "It's hard. I trust him to try and protect me – whether I want him to or not. I trust him with Dawn. I even trust him to do the right thing. But …"

            "What if he's still evil underneath," Faith said quietly. "What if he gets inside and uses it against you?"

            Buffy looked up at her, the shock written on her face. "When did you get all insightful?"

            Faith chuckled. "Didn't. I know a little about evil inside, though. Which Billy Idol is not. Not anymore. It's killing him, I think, but he knows it."

            "I can't…"

            "I know. My word's not enough. It never is."

            "I don't know," Buffy said thoughtfully, a small smile replacing the surprise on her face, "maybe not never."


	30. Hello to the Cult Guys II: Subtraction b...

            "My lord, you honor us," the high priest's voice was breathy with reverence. "Never before have our prayers been answered so readily." He dropped to his knees and abased himself on the muddy floor of the cave. "How may we serve you, honored one?"

            The blonde man and Recks both restrained a chuckle. Given the horned, scaly form he currently resided in, laughter might scare his newfound followers away. Some visages were simply not meant for mirth.

            "Tell me, Anthony, where did you learn these rituals you perform? And your behavior now, what British horror film might have spawned that bit of absurdity?"

            "M-m-master?" Anthony gaped, his eyes wide with terror.

            "The truth, Anthony. Tell me."

            "I-I-it was many of them, my lord, not any single one," he answered, ashamed.

            "Americans," the blonde man muttered. "Get off your knees. Now."

            Anthony came to his feet.

            "I will say this once, and never again. The foolish rituals end now. While your intent with the virgin sacrifices is fine, it is no longer necessary, and indeed a wasteful practice that could endanger us. It ends. Dropping to your knees whenever I enter the room is useless. It ends. That practice only slows matters down, and we are in need of speed just now."

            "B-but my lord, how can we show our reverence?"

            "Follow my orders exactly, and that will be reverence enough. Commands are to be followed instantly and never questioned. Is that understood?"

            "Of course, my lord." He began to sink to the floor, but quickly halted himself.

            "Good. How many people follow your guidance?"

            "Forty-four, my lord, as of yesterday. Twenty I would trust with my life."

            "How many would you trust with my life, Anthony?"

            "The same twenty," he assured the demon.

            "Have they any training? Weapons and such?"

            "Some. Not a great deal."

            The blonde man pondered that. "I will address them. All of them. Take me to the antechamber. Now."

            Recks fluttered by his master's ear. "Are you certain master I know what you intend it will weaken you greatly."

            "You worry too much, Recks." Mentally, he explained to his companion, _Weak though it might make me, it will be worth it. I have no need of strength for this portion. We cannot wait much longer – the Slayer must be isolated from the Key soon. The others she closes off through her own choice, but the Key is her sister. It must be removed or we will be unable to begin our work._

            Recks nodded. He knew the plan, and though he thought it unnecessarily risky, he could only follow his master's lead.

            "Buffy! This is the last time! One more and I swear to God I'm so out of here!" Dawn's angry shout echoed through the house on Revello Drive.

            Faith raised an eyebrow.

            "She doesn't like it when I borrow her lipstick," Buffy replied with a shrug. They were sitting at the dining room table with Xander. She yelled back, "Sorry, Dawnie. It's on my dresser."

            Five minutes later, Dawn made her way into the dining room, both wearing and carrying the offending lipstick.

            "Buy. Your. Own. You do have a job, you know. Try using it," she said, her hands on her hips. 

Faith chuckled. "Ouch, B. I think you better listen, before the mystical Summers goes Bruce Lee on your ass."

            "It's just lipstick."

            "I dunno, Buff. First it's lipstick, then it's eyeliner, then before you know it she's given away her whole makeup counter and half of Czechoslovakia. Better to stop it early before you get eaten by the alligator." Dawn laughed; Buffy and Faith both raised an eyebrow, and Xander sighed. "I wish Willow were here. She understands me."

            "She's really at a magic school, huh? Wicked."

            "No, no, just good magic … and that's kind of obvious, huh?"

            Dawn and Buffy didn't have a chance to reply. Spike burst into the entry, slapping the door out of his way as he heaved a disheveled man onto the floor. The man was almost as pale as his bloodstained white robes. 

Dobby scooted through the closing door, watching Spike with a deferential smile and wide eyes. "Hello, the Xander, Miss Buffy, Miss Faith. Hello Spike's bit," he added to Dawn. 

Spike bent over, panting unnecessary breaths from the rush and missing Buffy's enraged glare. 

"Planning on telling me why there's a Last Supper runaway on my floor anytime soon?"

            Blue eyes met blue eyes as he turned his head. "Found this bloke loiterin' in the bushes, lookin' like he meant ta do bad things. He was watchin' the house, Slayer."

            "Which, as you can certainly attest, is a sign of evil," Xander said.

            Spike ignored him and pressed on. "Dunno for who. Can't be anyone with good intentions, pet. I was thinking a spot of violence might do some good."

            On the floor, the robed man whimpered and clutched his red-streaked garment tightly around himself. Buffy leaned over, catching a whiff of fetid breath.

            "Ugh. You couldn't take him to CVS for some toothpaste first?" She grabbed the limp collar of his robe. "Why were you watching my house?"

            "I-I-I … n-not w-watching …"

            She slapped him with her open right hand. "So not in the mood for games right now. Why were you watching my house?"

            "K-key … W-we … I was w-watching for the Key …" The man's eyes were so wide with terror that the she could see a white ring around his irises.

            "The Key? Were you in the mall? Why? Who are you? What do you want with her?"

            "Slow down, lamebrain," Dawn told her. "He needs to get a word in to answer your questions."

            For the first time, the robed man turned his eyes on Dawn. He began shouting hysterically, "The Key! It is here! It is! The Key!"

            Buffy slapped him again, and he ceased shouting.

            "No need to yell. We know that already. The neighbors don't need the 4-1-1, too."

            The man kissed a signet ring on his finger. Buffy reached down and roughly ripped he ring from his hand. It had an unfamiliar design with a pentagram embedded in the middle of an onyx background. She pocketed it for Giles' later review.

            "This is creeping me out," Dawn said, her voice anxious, "I mean, what's up with people trying to hunt me down? Those freaks in the mall and now a bargain basement monk sitting outside the house?"

            "Something's not right, bit," Spike agreed. He looked at Buffy and shrugged. "Want me to get her out of here? Take a stroll hither or yon or whatall?"

            Something heavy shattered the dining room window. Faith had the closest seat to the window; on sheer instinct she leaped from her chair and snatched the object before it landed. She skidded across the wood floor; a full wine bottle with a burning rag stuck in the top rested in her palm.

            "Shit! Firebomb!" She screamed, chucking it back out the window, over the lawn, and into the street beyond. The bottle burst into a ring of fire on the pavement, lighting up fifty yards of Revello Drive in either direction.

            In the shadows of the firelight, they could see ten robed cultists advancing on the house. Their weapons gleamed with the menace that their masks surely hid from view.

            "N-now you will bow to my master," the man in the entryway rasped, staring at Dawn. "The Key will be his, and you will all roast in the flames of hell! You – "

            Dawn drove her fist into his face, pulping the man's nose and ending his tirade with the gurgle of rushing blood. "'Kay, Buffy, what now?"

            "Whoa, D," Faith muttered.

            Buffy dashed across the hall and kicked open her weapons trunk. "Xander, Anya and the boys will be here soon, right?" Xander nodded. They had stayed late at the Magic Box and were supposed to meet him at Buffy's. "Alright – when we distract them, head towards the Magic Box. Bring them back here – we'll need them when we're done. Spike, take Dawn and Dobby and get out of here. Don't come back for a few hours, and," she added with a touch of tenderness, "be careful."

            "Not to start a row, luv, but I think we have a more pressing problem than getting demongirl, don't you?" He gestured to the cultists skirting the flames outside. "Shouldn't the moron here take Dawn and I'll help you?" 

            "Listen, Junior, you do what your told. Got it?

            Buffy reached into the trunk and pulled out a pair of shiny objects. "How many? Ten?" One of the shiny objects spun through the air into the dark-haired Slayer's hands. "You want half?"

            Faith smiled and slipped the brass knuckles onto her right hand.

            "Get the others and get Dawn out of here," Buffy said to Xander and Spike. "We'll handle the Gregorian hit squad."


	31. Hello to the Cult Guys III: Rumble on Re...

            The blonde man, once again clothed in his smoky guise, watched patiently as Buffy and Faith strode confidently through the door of her house and out onto the porch. Xander rushed out behind them, jumping in his car and peeling away across several lawns. The blonde man took no notice.

            "Two of them master two of them and both together this is not good and URK!"

            A solid fist connected with Recks' furry head, flipping him over in mid-air.

            "I am aware of the second one's presence, you dolt. Fortunately, she is here and not out back with the vampire and the Key. She is of no consequence. My Slayer hates her bitterly. Are our other forces in position?"

            "Yes waiting your orders they are my lord."

            "Tell them to attack as soon as they clear the house," he ordered, watching Buffy and Faith engage his forces.

            Recks nodded his assent and focused his mind to the task.

            Spike led Dobby and Dawn through the kitchen and out the back door.

            "So Ears, you think you can get us to the moron's place with magic? That should be safe for now."

            Dobby looked at his feet with shame and shook his head. "No, Mister Spike. Even if Dobby has been there Dobby would have trouble moving himself, Mister Spike and his bit, sir. I'se sorry, sir."

            "S'alright. Didn't think it'd be so easy, anyway. C'mon, then," he waved at the garage, "we'll take yer mum's Jeep, nibblet."

            "How are we gonna do that? The street's on fire."

            "Oh. Damn."

            Even as Spike sifted through their other alternatives, he heard a half-dozen heartbeats come into focus around them and caught a pungent whiff of the unwashed men.

            "Dobby! Lights! Now!"

            Dobby snapped his fingers; a shaft of dazzling white light sprung up from the ground and illuminated the yard. Stunned by the sudden change, the waiting cultists frantically gripped their faces to block out the flash.

            Braced for the explosion, Spike and Dawn jumped into action while their opponents were still stunned. Dawn kicked the first groin she saw, hitting it with a fully-extended leg. The man crumpled over, wailing in agony.

            Spike punched one in the face, breaking the man's nose and setting off a searing pain in his head.

            "Aah! Bloody hell!" He fell to the ground, one hand gripping his forehead. After all the time at Hogwarts, he had forgotten that the chip would work again in the real world.

            As his knees touched the ground, Dobby finished an incantation. Ropes erupted in midair, flailing about like an enormous octopus as they coiled around any solid object within reach. He tugged on Dawn's leg just as she fired another elbow at an assailant.

            "Spike's bit must grab Mister Spike and get in the house before the ropes get us!"

            She looked at him, uncomprehending, until one tendril snaked out and wrapped itself around Spike's left hand. At that point, she decided they had enjoyed the outdoors enough for one night.

            "Come on!" She grabbed Dobby and dragged him over to Spike, who had morphed into his game face and ripped the rope apart with his fangs. With Dawn's help, he clambered to his feet and the three of them raced to the safety of the kitchen, where they watched intently as the ropes bound the struggling cultists in a giant ball of yarn.

            Buffy reached back and grabbed the man from their front hall, hurling him one-handed to the center of her front lawn. She and Faith casually strolled out after him. They wore similar expressions of boredom.

            "Only five each?" Buffy asked, feigning disappointment 

            "I've done way more than five at once. I was hoping for some real fun."

            "And I never, ever want details of that." Their assailants stopped, ringing the two Slayers in a semi-circle. "So, who's the boss? Which one of you is Angela, huh?"

            "Lame, B," Faith muttered.

            "You try quipping every night for eight years. It's not easy to go dud-free." To the group, she asked again, "Well? Who?"

            From behind the line of robed figures, the blonde man stepped forward, wearing the same face he had at the Bronze. Buffy felt her insides start to melt. A wave of longing passed over her just as it had at the club a month before.

            "That would be me," he purred.

            Faith frowned as she saw Buffy's eyes turn glassy. "And you are?"

            He turned ice blue eyes on her. "That is none of your concern. It is between myself and the Slayer."

            "Funny thing," she said, cocking her head. "I'm a Slayer, too. So I think you can tell me, pal."

            "Oh no," he said, dismissing her with a toss of his head, "I don't believe that's so. Kill her." He beckoned Buffy closer. "Come here, my dear."

            The robed figures leaped into action even as Buffy glided forward to the man. Sensing something seriously amiss, Faith grabbed the nearest robe and tossed it across the yard. She couldn't hear the bones break, but had no doubt that they did. More white robes swarmed around her. Stray sounds were drowned out by the men shouting. She elbowed a jaw and jabbed a nose, not bothering to try and keep track of her opponents.

            Even for a Slayer, ten fully grown men was a lot to take on at once. Never lacking confidence, Faith nonetheless felt a pang of apprehension as a fist connected with her back and another hit her hip. Using short punches and liberally applying her elbows and knees, she managed to beat them back for a few brief seconds, then for a minute, and then two. She knew, though, as she watched cultists she had flung aside rise again and charge, that she couldn't hold out much longer.

            Away from the fighting, Buffy made her way to the blonde man, feelings of awe and desire coursing through her unbidden.

            "Wh-who are you?"

            A pale hand caressed her cheek, searing her where flesh met flesh.

            "It matters not beyond one thing," he said with the same seductive voice. "Though I very much despise clichés, I would be remiss in not telling you that I am your destiny."

            "Okay," she mumbled, "destiny's good." She closed her eyes and moaned as he ran the back of his hand across her jaw.

            "You will be with me. Joined. Would you like that, my Slayer?"

            "Ohhhhh…"

            He ran his hands up Buffy's arms and over her shoulders, caressing the skin showing at the edge of her baby blue halter top. Buffy never wanted it to stop. Everything else fell away except for the feel of his skin on hers.

            A forearm wrapped around Faith's neck, closing off her windpipe in a vise grip. She reached up and grabbed the man's wrist. The forearm drooped under the pressure of Slayer strength and she violently hurled the arm and the man away from her. Using her newfound freedom to full advantage, she lashed out in several directions at once. Her foot caught a temple; her fist smashed an eye socket. Her forehead flattened a nose. 

The cultists warily backed off, realizing that even a single Slayer required careful strategy or the rest of them would be beaten into the ground. 

Faith took advantage of the slight pause to glance at Buffy. The blonde Slayer was rising on her toes to kiss the blonde man.

            "Oh, hell no," Faith shouted. Instinctively she knew not to let the two of them share a kiss. "B, quit with the googly eyes! We have to get Dawn outta here safe!"

            Buffy looked up in wonder. "Dawn?" Images of her sister started to leak into her consciousness. She froze, torn between the thoughts of Dawn and the feeling of his hands.

            The blonde man leaned in, intent on capturing her with a kiss. Buffy didn't respond, but she didn't move either. Another second and they would be kissing.

            At that moment, Faith's patience reached its meager limit. She flexed her knees and launched into a full-body tackle, taking a cultist with her when she slammed into Buffy's mid-section. All three of them went tumbling to the ground.

            "IMPRESSIO!" 

The two voices erupted from somewhere in the darkness. Faith felt wind rip across her back. When she looked up, she saw that everyone but the blonde man had been thrown back to the edge of the burning street. 

The Weasley brothers stepped onto the lawn, their raised wands backlit by the flames. 

"Why don't you lot take a seat?" Fred said, his voice laced with menace.

"Right then, that's good there," George added, flicking his wand at a cultist who had begun to rise. 

In the distance, sirens began to sound.

"Sunnydale's finest on the case," Faith said. She glanced at Buffy. The other girl was blinking like she had just been woken from a sound sleep.

            The blonde man glanced around. Anya and Xander had come up behind the two wizards, each holding a sword pulled from Xander's trunk. Spike and Dobby filled the front step, the vampire in game face, the house elf with magic crackling at his fists. Behind them Dawn craned to see the scene. She had a crossbow propped on her left arm.

            None of them scared the blonde man, not even the Slayers at his feet. He decided that one more push would accomplish his purpose before the police could interfere.

            "Know this: the Key will be mine. As long as she remains here, I will have her. And you, Slayer," he said, casting a blue eye on Buffy, "I will have you as well. As I know you desire. Until then, adieu."

            He bowed with a flourish. Then he and the cultists vanished into thin air.

            Buffy slumped against the stairwell, her mind feeling slightly numb. Xander had draped a blanket across her shoulders. He and Anya were out dealing with the police. Spike, Dobby, Faith, Dawn, and the Weasleys had arranged themselves in the living room. They made animated small talk, trying and failing not to stare at Buffy as they did. 

Spike, never one for small talk, unfurled himself from the couch and stalked over to her. He leaned his head over the railing.

            "You okay, pet? You look a bit peaked."

            She shook her head.

            "He had the mind mojo on you. Don't worry about it. That stuff's not easy."

            "I know," she said softly, feeling ashamed. "That's twice now."

            "Izzat what's really buggin' you?"

            She looked up at him with huge eyes. She felt unbearably weak, like her insides had turned to runny Jell-o. "He's after Dawn, and I can't do anything against him. Before, I thought … well, that maybe he wasn't all bad, y'know? But those guys … that attack … if he comes for her, what am I gonna do," she added ruefully, "lick him to death?"

            "They're bad news," Spike agreed. "Bloody amateurs, a'course, but by bloody I mean just that. Those robes weren't grimy with Kool-aid."

            "You could smell it?"

            He nodded and lowered his voice. "Some of it was virgin's blood. Smells different. I'll tell ya something else, too – he ain't human. He smelled like they did, but it was from bein' around them. He had no smell of his own."

            Her eyes squinted. Spike could feel her resolve stiffening. "What does that mean?"

            Spike shrugged. "Dunno. S'not good, but I'm no Watcher."

            "Giles might know."

            "He might," Faith said from the couch. The others were listening to Buffy and Spike. "Wesley might, too. We need to know, B. We can't kack it otherwise, even if his Jedi mind trick doesn't work on me. He seemed wicked tough, y'know?"

            "Yeah, he did. Nice tackle, by the way. Thanks."

            "You're welcome."

            "What about me?" Dawn asked with a shiver. "If that creepy guy is after me…"

            "You could stash her at Hogwarts," Fred suggested. "I don't care how bad a man he is, he wouldn't last five minutes with Dumbledore lightin' him up."

            "We could ask Professor Giles about him when we got there, too," George said.

            "Would they take her in?" Buffy asked, not liking the idea of sending Dawn to England. On the other hand, she obviously couldn't protect her sister on her own.

            "Dumbledore'll take anybody in. S'why he's the best headmaster ever. We could put her at the Burrow, too, if for some reason he's gone nutters and says no."

            "Mum'd love the company," Fred agreed.

            "The Burrow?"

            "Our home. Outside of Ottery St. Catchpole," he said to Spike, who nodded. "She'd be safe there with our mum."

            "England?" Dawn said skeptically.

            "Got a better plan, nibblet? 'Sides, with the floo thing, it's no different than being next door at the neighbors."

            She stared at Spike for a long minute, then looked at Buffy. Her sister had the Buffy version of Willow's resolve face on, and nodded. At least, she knew, Dawn would be safe until they could find some way to defeat this latest Big Bad.

            Dawn turned to Fred. "Okay. I guess I go to England."

            Recks teetered invisibly on the porch of the Summers home, peering in through the window as Fred stepped into the fireplace with Xander and Dawn. The explosion of green flame illuminated the living room.

            The blonde man, watching through his servant's eyes, let out a triumphant howl. Recks heard his jubilant voice across their telepathic link.

            _Now it begins._


	32. Hello to the Cult Guys IV: Past as Prolo...

            "That's one of the most amazing things I've ever seen." 

Willow's head was tipped all the way back  Most of the students, especially the younger ones, were doing the same. Above them a wild storm raged in the sky, a swirling mix of blues, purples, and blacks punctuated by the occasional white lightning strike that sent the crowd jumping.

"Definitely," Tara said. "You could watch it all night."

            "When I was twelve we had a storm like this," Jess added. Her eyes had drifted heavenward as well. "Dumbledore let all the students sleep in here so they could see it." She chuckled softly and dropped her voice to a whisper. "McGonagall was all in a tizzy because no one got any sleep. It's too bad he's at the Ministry tonight."

            "You were falling asleep in my class the next day, young lady," Professor McGonagall said, having heard every word. "I was more than justified in my attitude. I do remember, though, that on that particular evening Albus was more gleeful about it than anyone. He slept in here with you."

            "Really? I didn't know that."

            "Yes, well, he brought his rocking chair in from the office and ended up drifting off," she said with a smile.

            "He doesn't have a rocking chair in his office," Willow said.

            "Not anymore, no," McGonagall said; Jess suddenly looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but at the dinner table, "does he, Jessica?"

            "No," she muttered. "He kept it in the stupidest place anyway. It practically begged for someone to break it, don't you know."

            "You broke it, didn't you," Grey said.

            "Maybe."

            "And maybe," McGonagall said, her face still completely neutral but her eyes filled with mirth, "some of us shouldn't throw things when we get upset."    

            "Hol' on a minute," Jess protested as Willow, Grey, and Tara started to laugh, "I was completely justified in bein' pissed off!"

            "You … threw … a chair," Grey gasped out between laughs.

            "Hell no," she said, then mumbled something else.

            "I'm sorry, O'Brien, what was that exactly that you threw?" The oily voice came from beside McGonagall, though Snape never actually looked in their direction as he spoke.

            "Snape, don't even go there. It was your fault in the first place, you and your …" Her voice trailed off; whatever happened in the past, she was clearly still angry about it.

            "Whatever do you mean?"

            Grey put a hand on Jess's shoulder as she started to rise. "Jess, honey, no. Not here." Some of the students, especially at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, had started to take notice. "Whatever he did, it was a very long time ago. What did you throw, anyway?"

            "A cauldron," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Cast iron, two-foot diameter. Made kindling out of the chair."

            Grey couldn't stop the laughter from rising again. The sound brought an icy wave of reality washing over her. She was about to hit Snape over something nearly ten years old. She couldn't help but chuckle as she sat back down.

            "Sorry. My temper, you know?"

            "I know," Grey said.

            "So that you're aware," Snape said, his beady eyes and hook nose coming around to face her, "Miss Morris scored exactly as I graded it, whether you wished to believe it or not."

            "You shouldn't've called her out, and you know it. Don't push this, Snape."

            "That's Professor Snape," he mumbled, going back to his meal.

            "Wait, this is about Jace?" Jess nodded. Grey turned back to Tara and Willow and mouthed 'her best friend.'

            "Yeah, way back when we were fourth years." Jess shifted in her seat, ignoring Snape for the moment. "Have you heard from her? Since … well, since I took a powder?"

            "Not since London, no. I heard she and Tonks got assigned to Sydney by my father." To the others, he added, "she's still an auror."

            "You guys must have a lot of friends who are aurors, huh?" Willow asked.

            "Well … some," Grey replied, "though there're more than a few that don't like us much."

            "You can say that again," Jess said. They exchanged a private smile. "Our training group had some issues."

            "Why do I think asses were kicked and names were taken?" Willow asked rhetorically.

            Grey shrugged. "I don't know – because you've met us?"

            "We do tend towards the showy," Jess agreed.

            "We?"

"Oh, come off it. You're just as showy as me. You jus' think that if you don't talk much it doesn't count."

            "Right. That's me, king of the center stage. You, on the other hand …"

            The loud bang cut him off. 

Every head in the room rotated, focusing on the entrance. Four sopping wet figures strode in through the wide open doors. Covered head to toe in soggy black cloaks, the four looked like angry wraiths come to feed on the helpless.

            Grey looked them over carefully. Three he knew instantly from their movements. The fourth took him a few more seconds. Once he recognized her, he shot to his feet.

            "It's her," he snarled, his voice unlike anything Willow had heard before. "She's here." He looked down at Jess, his face twisted with fury. "She's here."

            Willow saw his face and gasped. 

Jess met his eyes. She knew only one person who could draw that look from him. 

"You want me to?" They had planned for this long before.

"Now."

            With no hesitation, she pulled out her wand; a quick incantation sent a burst of yellow into him. He flexed his fingers and his lip twitched upward briefly.

            "Thanks. Slack me?"

            "Always."

            As one, they vaulted over the table. Grey proceeded down the aisle towards the new arrivals while Jess turned and faced the faculty.

            "Jess, w-what's going on?"

            "It's a long story, Tara," she said, "an' I don't have time to tell it. Stay out of this. It's Grey's fight."

            "Fight?" Willow's voice grew panicked. "What fight?"

            Grey walked up to the first of the visitors.

            "Jedi," Spike said as he removed his hood, "you don't look happy to see us, do ya?"

            "Find your soul?"

            "Not yet, no."

            "Too bad." He brushed by Spike, past Xander and Dawn, who had also removed their hoods, and stepped in front of the final hooded figure.

            "You should not have come here."

            The voice from inside the hood was unsteady. "I … I didn't know you'd be here."

            "I don't care. I don't care why you're here, or who you're with. What I do care about is tearing your throat out. And you know why, don't you, Faith?"

            He reached out and ripped the hood completely off her cloak.

            "Grey, I …"

            His elbow smashed into her mouth, cutting her off in mid-sentence.

            "Ohmygodit'sFaith!" Willow said in a rush. "We have to …"

            "Stay right where you are, Willow," Jess said. "Grey can handle her."

            "But how? Why?"

            "I spelled him. He'll be fine."

            "No, why … why does he look like that? Like he's going to kill her? How does he even know her?"

            "Because he does, he's gonna, and we're gonna watch."

            "BUT WHY?"

"That's not fer me to tell you."

            Faith stepped back, letting her cloak fall to the floor as she shook off the blow. She ignored the whispers from students eyeing her tight jeans and tank top. She hadn't been prepared to see Grey, not ever again. A long-buried series of regrets swirled in her mind.

            "I'm going to love this," he snarled.

            "Don't make me hurt you, Grey. I don't want to fight."

            "Slow it down, Jedi," Spike said, "you two know each other?"

            "Oh, we know each other, don't we, Faith?" His eyes were wild. Feral. Completely out of control. He reached out and grabbed her throat, yanking her to him. "We know each other very well. Especially our families. Well, mine, anyway. Someone like Faith doesn't have a family, do they?"

            "Grey, it wasn't my fault," she said. Xander had never heard her sound so timid before. "I swear there was nothing I could do. They moved wicked fast and there were so many…"

            He pulled his fist back to punch her; with vampiric speed, Spike intercepted it.

            "Don't do that, Jedi. One can be a misunderstanding, but hit her again an' I'll be put out. She's with me."

            Grey was beyond reason. He shoved Faith to the ground, then used Spike's grip as a pivot; the whole of Hogwarts watched in awe as he spun around and slammed his open palm into Spike's chest. The vampire flew across the room, cracking mortar and stone as he smashed into the wall and slumped to the floor.

            "Grey, man, that was not …" Grey backhanded Xander, sending him sliding down the aisle between the dining tables. Dawn leapt at him, but he swatted her away like a fly. He had already refocused on Faith by the time she landed in a heap on the Gryffindor table.

            "He's lost it," Willow said, terrified. She had never seen this from him before. Snape, who had, glanced around and edged his wand out from his robe. McGonagall and Flitwick did the same. Willow pushed her chair back and rose. "We have to stop him before he kills someone, even if it is Faith."

            "Sit down, Red," Jess said. Her eyes were black. Willow stepped towards the side of the table. "You take one more step and I will smack you down hard. I mean it. The rest o' you as well," she said to the other professors, who paused with their wands half-out.

            "J-jess," Tara said, her eyes suddenly glowing white as Willow's turned black. She grabbed the red-haired witch's hand. "Don't make us fight you, too. J-just tell us what's going on."

            Across the room, Harry and Ron pulled a dazed Dawn off the table. Every student sitting on the aisle side scrambled out of the line of fire the moment she landed.

            "Don't stand there," Neville said, bewildered by Grey's attitude, "we've gotta break this up."

            He started to climb over the table but Hermione, Ginny, and Seamus hauled him back down.

            "Have you gone nutters, Longbottom?" Seamus asked. "Whoever that girl is, she's freaky fast and strong. So's Grey at the moment. They'll split your head like a melon."

            "Wands. Now," Harry ordered. He and Ron drew the fastest, followed by the other four.

            _Don't do that, Harry. It'll go badly for you._

            The Irish-accented voice in their heads sounded deadly serious, and the students froze.

Faith scrambled to her feet. Her hands moved up defensively. "What did you do? How did you hit him like that?"

            "Magic steroids. No side effects. Very useful." Faster than she could follow, he sidestepped and slapped a forearm across her face. A quick left jab cracked on her chin and she staggered.

            "I don't wanna do this, Grey. Not this way."

            "Aw, come on, Slayer." The title came out in a mocking voice. "You expected it to end some other way?"

            He fired a right hook at her eye. She reached up and caught it inches from her face.

            "No. I didn't expect it at all. I'm not going down without my blaze of glory, though." She snapped her other hand out at his face. His free hand flew up and caught it.

            They stood there, hands and eyes interlocking in the silent room. Neither gave an inch.

            "Fine by me." His foot caught her just beneath the breastbone. She released his hand and delivered a thunderous punch to his stomach. They started trading blows and the room hummed with the frightening sound of bone slapping on bone.

At the head table, Willow and Tara faced Jess, none of them wanting to fight but all three drawing on their power until the air practically dripped with it. Jess kept part of her mind tuned to Harry. Any student intervention would start with him.

"Cease this at once," McGonagall shouted, though she stayed still. If she moved, she knew Jess would interdict her and she doubted she could overpower the girl. "Someone is going to get hurt. If there is a single student injury because of this, I will see all of you out of this school in an instant. For some of you," she said pointedly, "that means Azkaban, I believe."

Jess paled but didn't move. "I'm not lettin' you stop him, Azkaban be damned."

"She'll kill him," Willow said, watching as more and more blood appeared on Grey's face.

            "He'll be okay. He knows her moves."

            "Dear lord," Giles said, speaking for the first time. He had been engrossed in the display before him. "Look at them, Willow. Don't you see?"

            Willow tried to focus on something other than the blood on Grey's face. She was torn between wanting to help him hurt Faith and her fear that Faith might kill him. Then she saw what Giles meant.

            Each punch that Faith threw, Grey anticipated. Every counter Grey tried, Faith stopped with ease.

            "With him so speeded up, it's like – it's like watching a mirror," Willow breathed.

            "They had the same teacher."

            "Lucy Grey? That was his aunt?"

            "Yeah, Giles."

            "Wait, what?" Willow was thoroughly confused.

            "Dear lord," he said again, "I can't believe I didn't see it before. Grey's aunt was Faith's first Watcher."

            Willow and Tara both stared at Giles, who spoke to Jess directly.

"Jess, you must understand, Faith is working with us now. And then … what happened with Grey's aunt, it was not her fault. Even the idiots on the Council agreed with that."

            "You … you didn't see it Giles. You didn't smell it. Not like we did. What they did to her… We found the body, Grey and me." They could hear the horror in her voice.

            "I know, there are no words. That's how Faith described it. But had she intervened, she would have been killed. It's how we met her, you see – she came to us for help. She and Buffy killed the ones who did it."

            "She did?"

            "She did."

            Jess dropped her guard. They had been completely wrong.

            "Let's stop him then, before he buys a ticket on the Azkaban Express for both of us."

            "I-I don't think we'll have to," Tara said, pointing to the door.

            "How could you," Grey said, driving his right fist into her stomach. "She took you in and you left her for dead!"

            Faith faltered. "What? Left her for dead? You're high, wizard boy." She tried to sweep his leg but he jumped over it. "Do you have any idea what those bastards did to her? I wouldn't leave someone to that."

            Furious, Grey lunged for her; Jess's spell was wearing off, and she dodged easily. When he moved to chase her down, he felt a tug at the collar of his sweatshirt.

            Suddenly, he was dangling a foot off the ground.

            "You're doing pretty well against a Slayer for someone without magic. Wanna go for the Daily Double?"

            With every ounce of strength she had, Buffy slammed his face into the floor. Grey's whole world went black.


	33. Hello to the Cult Guys V: What's Past is...

            "So if no one minds terribly, might I ask just what it is you people are doing here?" 

Giles, Dawn decided, seemed extremely put out after the fight at dinner. He had called the new arrivals – Spike, Faith, Dobby, Xander, the Weasley twins, Anya, Buffy, and Dawn – into the staff room with Tara, and Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick. Willow and Jess were with Grey in the infirmary. He was still unconscious, and everyone thought it would be better to separate those two from Buffy for a little while. They had reacted badly to Buffy's attack. 

Fortunately, no one had been hurt.

            "Didn't mean to start such a fracas, Watcher," Spike said, leaning against the fireplace. "Big things're goin' down in Sunnyhell. We figured a conference call just wouldn't do it."

            "I had no idea Grey was here," Faith added. "If I'd known, we would've called first or something."

            "So you thought he might attack you?" Snape snarled. "Why might that be, I wonder?"

            "Hey, I didn't KNOW it, you Bergman refugee, but I coulda guessed," she snapped.

            "Ooh, good one," Xander said under his breath. "Does he play chess?"

            "Can we get back on track?" Giles broke in. He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "She is on our side, Severus, and I'm certain it was not her intention to ruin our meal with a bout of fisticuffs. Buffy, what on earth is going on?"

            "It's kind of a long story, Giles."

            "Somebody's attacking me, first with a tiger-horn-thingy, then with some shoppers and vampires and tonight with some freaky cult dudes," Dawn explained. "It's the same guy who did the thrall on Buffy this summer."

            "Apparently not that long," Buffy said. "They keep coming after the Key. We have to get Dawn out of there until we can figure out who it is. Especially," she said in a bitter voice, "because I seem to be no help against this guy."

            Giles looked at them intently, but didn't comment. Telling Buffy what he knew would only make matters worse. _Why would this man, this angel, be after Dawn?_ he wondered silently. That would require a good deal of thought, and he pushed it aside. First he had to see to Dawn's safety, and that most likely meant bringing her to Hogwarts, assuming he could get the others to agree to it; Snape seemed to be in a most disagreeable mood.

            "She would be safe here," Flitwick squeaked, saving Giles from suggesting it. The diminutive professor smiled kindly at Dawn. She liked him instantly.

            "I agree," McGonagall said. "There would be very few uses for the Key that we could tolerate. If Albus were here, I'm certain he would offer her shelter."

            "That could be dangerous, couldn't it? For the other students, those not subject to random attacks by dark forces?" Snape said.

            "I think, Severus, that the girl's safety and her importance as a potential weapon mitigate what risks it might pose," McGonagall said harshly. "Albus would agree with me, and he will, once he returns. As you well know."

            Snape glared but said nothing.

            "Freaky cult dudes," Giles repeated, puzzled by having found no reference to the Cadre Caelestis having followers. "Elaborate please."

            "Never seen them before," Anya answered. "Looked like pretty low-rent cultists to me, dirty white robes and all. Major players like to look crisp, at least the ones I've met."

            "Ah, and your cult experience is diverse?" Snape asked skeptically.

            "Is it your job to be negative and difficult, Mister Greasy Man? You meet a few cultists when you spend a thousand years as a vengeance demon. My knowledge is quite diverse, thank you very much."

            The Hogwarts professors gasped; Snape purpled with anger and glared.

            "They were strong, fast, and well-trained," Buffy continued, "despite their poor outerwear. Fortunately, so are we," she added, with a glance at Faith. Then she pulled the ring from her pocket and tossed it to Giles. "One of them wore this, too. Could mean something."

            Giles nodded, peering at the unfamiliar design.

            "They're workin' for this guy for something other than money." Spike flicked open his lighter and lit a cigarette, ignoring the angry looks from the rest of the room. "They aren't ambitious enough to hit two Slayers at once just for cash. The town knew by now that Faith was around, an' that she's good."

            "Thanks, blondie."

            "If they're all expecting it, and he can do the thrall on Buffy, he's probly a player." Spike looked directly at Giles as he said it; Angel had filled him in on the Watcher's visit, and he wanted to make it clear who he thought was responsible. 

Giles gave him a barely detectable nod. 

"Agreed. The attacks seem to be increasing in severity, as well. Under the circumstances, I would definitely like to bring Dawn here. Perhaps we can camouflage her as a student, even though she has no magic of her own?"

            "I believe we could arrange something. Perhaps simply say she's a guest of Willow's," McGonagall suggested.

            "I want her to have extra cover," Buffy said. She turned to her best friend. "Xand, could you stay? I know it's a hassle, but …" she spread her hands, "it's Dawn."

            "Of course, Buff," he said without hesitation. Dawn and Buffy were both touched.

            "Xander!" Anya tugged at his arm and started whispering animatedly. Everyone but Snape looked away. "What about me? And your job? You're going to be an area foreman soon, which means more money, and … we were just starting to have good sex again."

            "Just starting?" He looked appalled. Spike, listening in with vampire ears, held in a snicker.

            "I mean, it was good, but now it was good plus the extra good that comes from being in love. You know what I mean."

            "Oh," he said, reddening, "yeah, I do. But An … it's Dawn. I can't let anything happen to her. What she really needs is someone here to look out for her, and not just in the bodily harm sense. That's what I do best."

            Anya nodded. That was Xander's best talent, and one of the reasons she loved him.

"We'll just tell the guys at work I have an illness in the family and I need a leave or something. They'll let me go. We can see each other on weekends and stuff, with the floo and everything."

            She pouted, nodding even as she felt on the verge of tears.

            "Thank you, Xander," Dawn said. She gave him a tight hug.

            "We'll stay as well, nibblet," Spike said, gesturing to Faith and Dobby.

            "We will?"

            "Yeah. Research was goin' nowhere in Sunnyhell, an' I think the answer might be here." A brief flicker of hurt crossed Buffy's face; Spike ignored it. He'd be doing more to save her by finding an answer to his question than by staying in Sunnydale. "Need to talk ta Dumbledore about it as it is. You got a problem with that?"

            Faith shook her head. "Not at all. Place this big has to have more to do than Sunnydale. We should probly check in on Grey, though, make sure he's cool with me staying." _No way he will be_, Faith thought to herself. A wave of guilt passed through her. Despite what she knew was the truth of it, she felt guilty about his aunt. Lucy had been a piece of work, and the first to person to ever really give Faith a chance.

            "I'll go," Buffy offered, wanting to get away from Spike for a little while. "I need to chill Will out, too." She rubbed the spot on her stomach where Willow had blasted her away from Grey. "She's pretty pissed."

            The silence was deafening.

            Grey remembered vaguely how eerie it had been the first time, but somehow the memory seemed less harsh than the reality. The city of Boston should not have been silent. He had the mad urge to scream, shout, and dance a jig just to shatter the stillness.

            "Please don't. You're singing's bloody awful."

            That voice … he whirled around, and there she was, standing in the middle of the street. She looked tall, aristocratic, and alive.

            "Looks can be deceiving."

            "Au-aunt Lucy?"

            "Hello, David."

            "This is a dream, right? It must be. Because Faith's back, and Buffy knocked me out."

            "Good guess, but … wrong."

            "Only seventy-five more to go?"

            "Something like that." She glanced at his hip. "I like the lightsaber. Very unique."

            "Thanks."

            "You could have carved her up in seconds. Why didn't you?"

            He recognized that face. He had seen it often enough. Disapproval.

            "I wanted her to hurt."

            "I thought that's what it might be. You're still so angry."

            "No," he said grimly, shaking his head. "I'm past that."

            "Oh really? So someone else threatened to carve off Snape's ears if he hurt Jessica last year?"

            "That was … a special circumstance," he said guardedly. His aunt's shade had the same irritating way of burrowing into him that the live version had once possessed.

            "Was it? Tell that to Faith."

            "Faith deserves that pain and more."

            Lucy shook her head. "You're still the stupidest smart man I ever met. Do you honestly believe Faith had a hand in what happened to me?" 

            "She could have stopped it. She should have."

            "We both know that's not true. She's a Slayer, not a god. It took both Slayers to kill that bastard. Together. And you think it was harsh to be the one to find my body? They made Faith watch."

            He blanched. "How can you be so …"

            "Dispassionate about it? Death gives you perspective." She walked up to him, peering down into his eyes from her six-foot height. "She is not to blame for my death. Neither are you, and putting your guilt on her will help no one."

            "But she …"

            "NO! She blames herself. You blame yourself. The true person to blame is five years dead. And drafting that poor girl to cover your back? She could very well go to Azkaban for that."

            Grey's face twisted with fury, just as it had in the dining hall.

            "Never happen."

            She shook her head in disgust. "You are so very much like my father. It disgusts me sometimes. You're such a mess, runnin' around like all is well when you're all knotted inside. Thinkin' the cure is to act like everythin' is fine."

            Now Grey was genuinely perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

            "If you don't already know, I can't tell you."

"That lead-in bit is no less obnoxious than it was when you were alive."

            "Sorry. It's beyond my message from the Powers. Can't say anythin' more."

            "What's the message, then?"

            "You're quite daft sometimes, aren't you? This must end. Now. Tonight. You need Faith, and Faith needs you. It's important enough that they sent me directly."

            His vision began to darken and blur as wooziness overtook him.

            "But why?" He managed to mumble.

            Her answer echoed in his head as he fell back to blackness.

            "Because he doesn't know her."

            "He's gonna be fine," Jess said, resting a comforting hand on Willow's shoulder. "No one has a harder head. Trust me."

            Willow looked up and smiled tentatively. She had Grey's hand in her own. "I know. Except maybe Xander. He gets hit on the head a lot and he's really stubborn, too."

            "He seemed kinda goofy downstairs, before they went into their big meeting."

            She slid into a chair next to Willow. They were alone with Grey in the infirmary.

            "He's the king of goof. He isn't embarrassing himself too badly, I hope?"

            "Nah. He's tryin' to lighten the mood is all."

            Willow nodded, a soft smile on her face. "Probably not an easy thing with Faith here."

            "Was she really as bad as all that? Grey hated her because he thought she let his aunt die, but before that he only had nice stuff to say."

            "She lasted a few months as a good guy, but I don't know … I never liked her. Okay, yeah, that might have more to do with her suddenly playing the best friend role of Willow in Buffy's life, and I can't really fault her for that. Afterwards, though, when she signed on as the mayor's Luca Brasi and tried to steal Angel from Buffy and made with the knife-in-face when she had me hostage? That part was less fun."

            "Wow. That is bad."

            "It didn't get better when she stopped being all in-a-coma and had the sex with Buffy's boyfriend and attacked Angel before heading off for a stint in the pokey."

            Jess frowned. "An' the reason we didn't let Grey tear out her spine was?"

            "Don't know. Haven't talked with Buffy yet. Supposedly she's good again, and I know she's working with Spike. As for why they're here…"

            "It's complicated," Buffy said quietly, slipping through the infirmary door. She moved to hug Willow, but the redhead pushed her away and stood up. "What's wrong Wills?"

            "What's wrong? You put my boyfriend in the hospital! Didn't my energy bolt after dinner tell you anything?"

            "Willow, shhh!" Jess said, pointing at Grey.

            "Oh, sorry. But geez, Buffy, you expect me to be all 'hi, how ya doing, give me a hug' after that?"

            Buffy looked sheepish. "Sorry. There just didn't seem like any other way." She winced. "Is he badly hurt?"

            "No, thank goodness. We could have stopped him ourselves, though, without resorting to cave-slayer tactics."

            Buffy sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Nobody could make her feel terrible like Willow could. "I'm so sorry, Wills. Really, I am."

            "You're jus' lucky he wasn't hurt badly, Slayer," Jess said.

            "I guess we should have owled ahead, huh?"

            "Probably better that you didn't," Grey said weakly from the bed. "I might have used a poisoned crossbow."

            "Grey!" Willow and Jess shouted together. He was suddenly on the receiving end of several hugs, though he couldn't sort out whose arms belonged to who. He had a vague memory of dreaming about his aunt, and his anger at Faith had dissipated. Lucy's death hadn't been any more her fault than it had been his. 

            "How do you feel?" Buffy asked when the other two had resumed their stations next to him.

            "Like a Slayer slammed me headfirst into the dining hall floor. Imagine that."

            Buffy blushed. "Sorry."

            "It's okay. I needed it. I was being an ass." He looked at Willow. "Was anyone hurt?"

            "Other than you and Faith? Uh uh. She'll be smarting in the morning, but nothing terrible."

            "I think I probably owe Xander and Dawn an apology, huh?"

            "More than one," Willow agreed. "What happened to you? I've never seen you like that."

            He turned away from her, meeting Jess's intense gaze on the other side of the bed.

             "Jess? Buffy? Could you guys send Faith up here in a few?"

            "I could stay," Jess offered.

            "No. I need to talk to Willow for a bit first."

            She nodded. "Okay."

            "Sorry again," Buffy said as they were leaving.

            Grey nodded. The door swung closed and he and Willow were alone.

            "So now are you gonna tell me?"

            He looked away again, ashamed.

            "It's not like it's some big disfiguring mark or something, is it?"

            "No, Will, not that. You'd have found that by now, don't you think?"

            Her face reddened. "Oh. Yeah."

            "So I guess you know that Faith's watcher and my aunt were the one and the same."

            "Giles figured it out. I never realized it 'til tonight, but you guys fight eerily the same. Mirror-like."

            "We do. My aunt was a great teacher." He looked back at her, surprising her with eyes full of tears. "I'm sorry I never told you about Boston. It's really hard for me."

            She took his hand and brushed her lips across his knuckles. "You don't have to, if you don't wanna. I don't need to know so badly."

            "Yeah, you do. I love you. I want you to know all about me, because I know how much you want to. I didn't intend to keep this from you."

            She dropped his hand and leaned in. The kiss lingered, full of solace and comfort paired with the tiniest hint of passion. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her onto the bed.

            "You know when Faith was called, right?"

            "Yup," she said, snuggling up next to him. "In a weird way, I was there."

            "With Kendra?" She nodded. "Yeah, well, when Faith was called, she had already been living with us for a month. You knew her – she was really difficult and closed off, but I think she and my aunt were genuinely starting to like each other when I left."

            "When was that?"

            "Maybe two months after she was called. Fighting with a vampire slayer was an interesting training tool."

            "He was wicked good then, Red," Faith said softly from the doorway. She had been waiting outside, but stepped in when she heard her name. "Not strong and hella fast like tonight, but I don't think I've ever fought a guy as well-trained as your man there, besides maybe Angel. Except he was a boy." She looked him over. "You ditched the hair?"

            "More like the hair ditched me," Grey answered.

He hadn't leapt from the bed and attacked her again, and she wondered what was going on. "I like it. Mean-looking, y'know?"

Willow slid off the bed, stepping between them.

            "I'm not here for a scrum, Willow. I swear. Buffy sent me up."

            "She seems to not hate you right now, which, as Xander might say, I personally don't know anything about," Willow responded coolly.

            "We've got a deal. I continue to prove I'm diggin' on the good and she lets me continue to prove it."

            "Are you here to stay?"

            "For a little bit, yeah. Spike's got some stuff he needs to do, and Dawn needs some bodyguard action."

            "You're running with Spike?" Grey said, more than a little amused. "That's worth money to see."

            Willow ignored their exchange. "Let's get something clear, Miss California-Penal-Institution. Buffy's not here. I am. If you mess with Grey or any of my students, which by the way is all of them, or any of the other professors, you'll go from vampire slayer to something gooey and messy in a heartbeat. There will be no knife-in-face, no junk about giving you other chances. Just splat. Got it?"

            Faith nodded. The words were Willow but the eyes … the eyes pulsed with something much darker.

            "Good. Continue," she said to Grey, who was watching her with elevated eyebrows.

            "That's my girlfriend," he said to Faith. "She's kind of protective."

            "You and Red?" She nodded, a small smile on her lips. "I can see that."

            "Anyway," Grey continued, "I left for my auror training the summer Faith was called. As you pretty much know, awhile later Kaquistos showed up and butchered my aunt."

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence. Willow rubbed his arm lightly. Faith stared off into the middle distance, remembering, until Grey's voice jolted her back.

            "Jess and I went back. We found her body. It was obvious what they'd done."

            "She doesn't need to know that part," Faith said, still not looking at either of them.

            "I know." To Willow, he said, "it was obviously vampires. Badass ones. Faith was nowhere to be found, and I blamed her. My father and I went to the Watcher's Council, but you, I'm sure, know them, and they wouldn't say a word about where she was. We tried to hunt her down with locating spells and things like that, but it didn't work."

            "The Hellmouth," Willow said. "It can obscure that kind of thing."

            "Yeah, that sounds right," Faith said. She looked back at Grey. "I wanted to tell you, but … I couldn't. It was hard. Then things sorta changed on me."

            "Meaning you turned into exactly what I thought you were," Grey said.

            "Yeah." She turned her head away, the shadows of the darkened room emphasizing the lines and creases that the painful years had given her. He could feel the desperation coming off of her in waves, and something inside him gave way.

            He climbed out of bed, letting go of Willow, and stood beside Faith. They stared out the infirmary windows onto the moonlit Hogwarts grounds, enduring several minutes of uninterrupted, blatantly uncomfortable silence as they both thought about his aunt.

            "She was happy for you. So happy. You shoulda seen it, Grey. When your owls showed up, she'd get all fired up and start reading parts of 'em out loud."

            "She did that a lot with letters. Used to annoy the hell out of me."

            "Me too. It was funny, though."

            "I'm sorry I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt. I was a little insane about it for awhile, and it festered."

            "Don't be sorry. You were right."

            "No," he stepped in front of her and looked her in the eye, "I wasn't. Whatever happened later, happened later. The girl I knew wouldn't have done the things I thought she did. I'm sorry I thought that about you."

            Faith's face cracked and she looked as if she might start to cry.

            "I'm the sorry one, Grey. I couldn't do anything for her. Nothing. They caught us when we were sleeping. One of 'em posed as a fuckin' pizza guy on a rainy night and got invited in. They drugged us, and when I woke up…"

            Grey wrapped his arms around her as they both broke down sobbing. Willow stood still and watched, tears running down her face, as they finally mourned Grey's aunt together. She had never seen Faith cry like that.

            "Sorry again," Grey said when they had calmed down, "I know you don't hug."

            "No, I don't," she said, "but this one time I'll let it slide."

            "So you're back now? Atoning?"

            She shrugged. "You can't, really, not for what I've done. But I'm trying."

            "This is the right place for that, believe me. Too bad you weren't into the dark magic."

            "Why?"

            "We could've looked into starting an evil Quidditch team."


	34. Moving Ahead

            Grey spent the entire next day waiting for Dumbledore to return and give him his walking papers. Willow tried to persuade him otherwise, but he could tell she was just as convinced that he would be fired. Which, he admitted, he probably should be. One doesn't, he told Willow an hour before dinner in a poor imitation of Dumbledore, simply start a riot at dinner, threaten the faculty, and punch teenage girls without a bit of a comeback.

            Early in the afternoon he sought out Dawn and Xander, who were surprisingly understanding.

            "Everybody gets the wig once in awhile," Dawn told him. "Buffy tried to kill us once when she thought we weren't real. No big. Just … don't do it again, 'kay?"

            "Seriously," Xander added, "days like that? Not fun, but they happen. I may or may not have had a few like that with Angel once upon a time."

            "A few?" Dawn said skeptically. Grey had to grin at her raised eyebrow.

            "Well … hey, you don't know. You weren't there. I might have been totally justified."

            Her eyebrow didn't move.

            "Okay, so I wasn't totally justified. See?" He said to Grey. "Don't worry about it. But the next time one of our wicked witches turns you into the Hulk, I get to have a turn, too."

            Grey felt better after that, but on his way to dinner an anonymous voice called out "Dead man walking," and his stomach did a flip. He hoped they were talking about Spike and not him.

            With that preparation, the Headmaster's announcements took everyone by surprise, Grey included.

            "Good evening," Dumbledore said after McGonagall brought silence with a tap on her goblet. "I trust you are all more aware of last night's events than myself, as I, of course, was not here." He smiled, but for once the room did not pick up on his humor. No one knew quite how they should react to a brawl among the teachers at dinner. 

"It seems, and I suppose this is a shocking turn of events in such a placid institution as Hogwarts usually is, that we had a spell go slightly awry yesterday. In her haste to come to the school's defense, Miss O'Brien accidentally spelled my overly-physical assistant. You all bore witness to the results."

The Gryffindor table breathed an audible sigh of relief. 

            "Please be assured that this was a one-time occurrence, and the normal ban on spells in the dining hall remains in effect. Should I see any roasted chickens prancing about, I will be most displeased."

            That statement brought a laugh from all four tables, and Dumbledore's smile widened.

            "Now, on to happier news. We have a number of guests who will be joining us for a portion of the school year." 

He gestured to the four new arrivals, each of whom had a seat at the head table except Dawn, who occupied a space between Hermione and Ginny at the Gryffindor table. 

"As you will see them around and about, I thought a formal introduction might be in order. Many of you remember William the Bloody, also known as Spike." Spike rose to muted clapping that made him smile. No one had known quite what to make of him, and he loved that. "For those of you who are new or do not recall, Spike is in fact a vampire, though he will do you no harm." Several first-years gasped, and one Hufflepuff boy fainted. "Oh my. Hannah, could you take him to Madam Pomfrey please?"

            Hannah Abbott, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, nodded and used her wand to float the boy away.

            "Once again, let me assure you that Spike will not hurt anyone. He was here the whole of last year, as the older students can tell you. The dark-haired young lady next to him is Faith, the Vampire Slayer. As her name suggests, she can be counted on to keep Spike in check." Faith stood up and gave the student body a skeptical nod. The faculty table chuckled as a number of older students openly stared at her. "To her right is Mister Xander Harris, who is the guest and longtime friend of our Professor Rosenberg."

            When Xander stood and girls, especially the older ones, began cheering. Ginny leaned over to Dawn. "Is he as cute up close as he looks from here?"

            Harry looked back from the dais in alarm.

            "Cuter," Dawn said with a smile. "He's kinda taken, though."

            "Oh, me too. Just wondering," she said, grinning at Harry, whose eyes were wide.

            "Finally, some of you may remember Miss Dawn Summers, who visited us last Christmas. Dawn is also a guest of Professor Rosenberg." Dawn stood to a raucous ovation. "Miss Summers will be attending classes with the sixth-year Gryffindors. Please be patient, as this is her first experience with a wizarding school."

            "You're in class with us?" Hermione asked.

            Dawn nodded. "I'll explain after dinner."

            Above them, Dumbledore went on. "Now, I have one final announcement. As it does every eight years, the International Convention for Underage Wizardry is taking place this winter in Sydney, Australia." 

            Seeing a number of confused looks, he elaborated.

"This conference allows groups from various schools to attend special lectures, lessons, and activities with faculty from all over the wizarding world. Hogwarts will be sending a delegation of ten students to the conference. Those of you who wish to participate will submit, in writing, an essay of no more than ten inches in length about the unique character of Hogwarts. The deadline for essay submission to Professor McGonagall will be one week from today. Please bear in mind that first years, prefects, Quidditch captains, and the Head Boy and Head Girl are ineligible for this trip. The members of the delegation will be selected and notified on November 1, as this will require a significant reduction in your holiday vacation and you will need time to plan accordingly."

            Grey was hardly surprised to see a note appear in front of him that Professor Dumbledore wanted a word in his office. He pushed his way through the post-dinner throng, listening to excited students chatter on about the conference. The competition for the ten spots promised to be fierce.

            When he reached the door to Dumbledore's office, he was surprised to find Jess, Ron, Harry, and Hermione already there.

            "You get a note, too?" Ron asked him.

            "Yeah. First time in awhile I've been called to the principle's office."

            The others laughed nervously.

            "I thought you were dead gone, Grey," Ron said. Hermione elbowed him. "Hey! Mione!"

            "Ronald Weasley! That was extremely rude."

            "It's okay, Hermione." To Ron, Grey said, "I thought so too. Do you guys…"

            "Willow told us," Harry affirmed.

            "Good. I hope you understand that besides jumping to conclusions, acting like an idiot, and wrongly accusing Faith, I made another big mistake because hitting people never solves anything."

            "I could not have said it better myself, David," Dumbledore said from the doorway. "Come in, please, all of you, and close the door firmly."

            They did so; the three Gryffindors saw the other occupants of the room and ran across to greet them.

            Grey recognized Sirius Black; they had been patrolling together since before school, and he liked the fugitive a great deal. His concern for Harry spilled into everything he did, and Grey could relate to that.

            The other man he didn't know. He had brown hair shot through with gray and very intense eyes of a color Grey couldn't quite place.

            "Professor Lupin? Are you back to stay?" Harry asked as he gripped the older man's hand.

            "Not just yet, Harry." He smiled at the boy. "Your father was one of my closest friends, you know, and I'm certainly no professor any longer. You'd better start calling me Remus. All of you."

            "Grey…" Jess whispered.

            "I know. Something's off about him." His hand dropped to his lightsaber.

            "Remus is a werewolf," Sirius said. "He's one of my oldest friends, Grey. He won't harm you."

            "Couldn't, at any rate. Wrong day of the month," he said, extending his hand. "Remus Lupin."

            "Dave Grey."

            "Jess O'Brien." They each shook his hand in turn.

            "Professor Lupin's one of the best Dark Arts teachers we've had, an' the only good one before Professor Giles," Ron said.

            "I'm glad you feel that way, Ron," Dumbledore said, drawing their attention back to him. "Sirius and Remus asked that I bring you here to speak with them, but there are a few other things I would like to address first. Perhaps if the three of you were to adjourn to Professor Giles' empty classroom, I could have them join you in a few minutes?"

The three Gryffindors nodded. "It shouldn't be terribly long." 

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione had filed out, he turned to Grey. "I trust the issue between you and Faith is settled."

            "Dead and buried."

            "Need I remind you that should you ever lash out in such a manner again, you will be summarily dismissed?"

            "I understand, Professor. If you would prefer, I can depart now for personal reasons or something, and save you the trouble of retracting your statement."

            "I don't think that will be necessary, young man. If it were, you would already be gone." His piercing blue eyes dug into Grey. "I understand why you were angry, Grey, and I believe that it is an isolated incident. See that I am proven right."

            "Yes, sir," Grey said, his eyes downcast. Jess touched his arm briefly in support.

            "Jessica? I trust this lesson is not lost on you?"

            "I'd do the same thing again," she said defiantly.

            "Be that as it may, I can't condone that course of action."

            "Then you'd best toss me in Azkaban now, Professor." She held out her hands in front of her as if asking for shackles. Sirius and Remus chuckled softly.

            Dumbledore fought down his own laugh. Twelve years and the girl was exactly the same as the day she arrived. "I think that won't be necessary. You're welcome to come to Grey's defense, but do try and maintain some control on your temper when doing so? Professor McGonagall was most put out at the thought of trying to barrel through you."

            "Alright," she agreed grudgingly.

            "Excellent," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Now, happier things are afoot, as I said at dinner. I'm glad that you don't seem bothered by Remus' condition, Grey, because the two of you are leading our delegation to Australia."

            Grey's head shot up.

            "We're what?"

            "Leading the delegation. It should be interesting," he added, eyes twinkling, "to say the least."

            "A wizarding conference? Professor, I don't know if anyone has told you, but … I'm a squib. I can't exactly lecture on the proper use of summoning charms or something."

            The others laughed. "All is not as it seems," Remus intoned.

            "I'll be along as well. Man's best friend and all that," Sirius said.

            The information clicked in Jess's head. The conference was in Sydney. "You're goin' after the Zombie Master, yeah?" she asked.

            Sirius nodded. "With all the commotion in the city, I might have a shot at getting in and actually learning something this time."

            "You and I," Lupin said to Grey, "will be along as his backup. McGonagall will handle the actual lecturing."

            "Exactly right," Dumbledore agreed.

            "This sounds like something where we can expect to see the Death Eaters make some sort of appearance," Grey said thoughtfully. 

            "It's a possibility," Dumbledore admitted. "I thought we might invite another minder or two to meet you there, just in case, and I'll allow you to select the delegation, if you wish. I believe Minerva already has some students in mind, but we would appreciate your input."

            "Those three," Grey said immediately, gesturing to the door behind him. "We need them there. If something goes wrong, they won't panic."

            "What about Malfoy?" Jess asked.

            "Draco Malfoy?" Lupin said.

            "They've taken to training him, Moony. Apparently he's come into the light." Sirius' comments were laced with scorn.

            "Are you serious?"

            "He had a rough fifth year," Grey said. "It changed his perspective a bit. He's committed to our side. Unfortunately, he's a prefect, so he's out of the running."

            "Oh, right," she said. "Forgot about that."

            "I'll take Longbottom instead," he told Dumbledore.

            "Neville Longbottom? I'm sorry to look such like a fish, but …" Lupin mimicked his jaw dropping. "Draco Malfoy on the side of right is hard enough to believe. Why on earth would you want Longbottom for a sensitive mission?"

            "He's different than you remember," Grey said, anger creeping into his tone. "I've been training him, for one, and for another, he's begun to find the bit of his parents that's buried in him."

            "He tried to go over the table to help you last night, Grey. Did you see?" Jess asked.

            "No, I didn't," he said with a smile. Looking back at Lupin, he added, "I'd let him watch my back anytime."

            "As would I," Dumbledore said, drawing another incredulous expression from Lupin. "Very well. Your three trainees and Neville."

            Lupin shook his head, then shrugged. "Longbottom. He's a nice boy, but … this I have to see."

            "We'll be out training tomorrow night, if you want to watch."

"I think I will." Lupin turned to Dumbledore, "Who would the other minders be?"

            "That will depend, I think, on who is available. Best that we wait until later to decide that. You are, however, amenable to going?"

            Lupin and Grey looked at each other. Grey shrugged, Lupin nodded, and it was decided.

            Hogwarts was heading Down Under.

            "Sirius and Remus both, along with Spike and Buffy and all those people," Harry said, his legs swinging in the empty air under the desk he had perched on, "something big must be happening."

            "Reckon so, mate." Ron popped a biscuit-flavored Every Flavor Bean into his mouth from a stash in the pocket of his robe. "I wonder why they came now? Didn't Sirius tell you Spike had gone off on some quest this spring?"

            Harry nodded, "Yeah. He wouldn't say what, though."

            They looked up as the door opened, expecting Remus and Sirius. Ginny and Dawn stepped into the room instead.

            "Hey, Harry."

            "Ginny!" Harry's face lit up as he pulled her into a hug. "Shouldn't you be patrolling?"

            "Escort duty," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. She tossed a thumb back at Dawn. "Once I get Dawn back, Neville takes over and I go out on my rounds."

            "Neville?"

            "Uh huh. Grey's orders." She shrugged. "Just 'til you guys get back, I guess."

            "Oh." Puzzled, Harry released her and greeted Dawn, who stood with Hermione and Ron watching the two of them hug. She and Hermione had large smiles on their faces. Ron looked like he wanted to gag.

            "D'you have to be so cutesy when I'm around, Harry? Makes me ill."

            Dawn laughed, but Ginny didn't.

            "Ron!"

            "Sorry, Gin."

            "You guys are a riot," she said to Hermione. "Is it always like this?"

            "Mostly. Ron seems to think he can be all mushy with me and then not have to tolerate it with everyone else."

            "'Least he's mushy with you."

            "Oh, definitely," Hermione said dreamily.

            "Y'know, we're still in the room," Ron broke in. Ginny and Harry were laughing, but he was not amused.

            "So Dawn, why exactly are you here?" Ginny asked, turning the conversation back on topic.

            The explanation took fifteen minutes of gasps, groans and squeals as Dawn gave a detailed account of the attacks. Hermione listened silently, trying to match Dawn's words with her research and Giles' earlier explanations. The Prince of Lust seemed to be acting solely through surrogates. _Maybe he won't gain strength until he subjugates Buffy_, she thought suddenly. _If Buffy's his target, maybe her capture has something to do with his the interference of the Hellmouth. What_, she wondered, _would that mean for the world if he got free?_

            "… and Hermione's not even listening to me anymore, is she?"

            "Huh? Oh, I'm sorry, Dawn."

            "What is it, Hermione?" Harry recognized the look on her face. He had seen it dozens of times, including when she had realized that the beast in the Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk.

            "Nothing, Harry." He raised an eyebrow. "Really, it's nothing. I was just thinking about Dawn's story. It's obvious why they would want you here. Dumbledore can protect you better than anyone."

            Dawn nodded. "That's the word on the street. I hate leaving Buffy, but dying? Not too high on my list, either."

            "We should get goin'," Ginny said, "speakin' of that. Neville's waiting for us, and McGonagall's waiting for me to walk the corridors."

            They said their goodbyes and Ginny and Dawn left, passing Remus and Sirius, in dog form, as they did. Harry's godfather changed back into his human appearance as they entered and shut the door.

            "You three are looking well," Lupin said. "Sorry it took so long, but we needed to iron some things out."

            "No problem, Pro – Remus." Harry wanted to return the compliment, but he felt a bit disingenuous. The truth was that Lupin looked as ill-used as ever. He settled for thanking their former Professor and asking him why he had come.

            "Dumbledore asked me to," Lupin replied simply. "He wants me to act as a chaperone on the Australia trip, and figured a few months here before that to gather my strength would help." Harry barely caught the flick of his eyes to Sirius, and realized that Lupin had more than one reason for returning. Having so little company probably wore very thin on Sirius' nerves. "Are you three going to apply?"

            The Gryffindors looked at each other. They had discussed it in passing, concluding their auror training would take them out of the running. They had no idea, though, if they could tell Lupin about that.

            "Um … Well, we have a lot of work, sixth year is a big year and all," Harry said carefully.

            "Loads," Hermione chimed in, "you should see how much lesson planning I need to do for these two."

            "It's a bugbear, this year is," Ron affirmed.

            Lupin nodded seriously, struggling to hold in laughter. "I imagine the auror training is time consuming too, especially with your normal work on top of it." 

            Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked scandalized. Their horror brought the laughter out in full from Lupin, along with a healthy dose from Sirius.

"Padfoot filled me in while you were at dinner."

            The kids breathed a collective sigh of relief.

            "So we'd be able to go, then?"

            "Let me just say, Ron," Sirius intoned with mock gravity, "that we, Moony and I, feel it would be in your best interest to finish the essay as quickly as possible."

            "But shouldn't we take our time and …"

            "As quickly as possible," he told Hermione, looking her straight in the eye. "Let's just say it's the quality of the candidate more than the quality of the essay that determines who goes and leave it at that, alright?"

            "Oh," she said, her eyes wide. 

Apparently, the three of them were headed for Australia as well.


	35. New Toys

            Neville ascended the stairs to the roof the next night wondering if Spike would be joining them again. He hoped so. Training with Grey was intense, but without the vampire around it had also been a bit dull – not as dull as working out by himself in Gran's yard, of course, but Spike's constant banter and occasional gruesome anecdote livened things up in a way that Grey just couldn't.

            As he came through the roof door into the cooling night, towel in one hand and wand in the other, he was glad to see the familiar orange glow of Spike's cigarette burning in the night sky. He also noticed two other people standing beside Spike and Grey.

            "'Ey, Longbottom," Spike said with his usual smirk, "the Jedi tells me your gettin' good."

            Neville shrugged. "Better, I guess, yeah. Dunno about good, though."

            "The Jedi?" Faith asked.

            Grey lifted the lightsaber handle off his hip, earning an 'ooh' from her.

            "Does it work?" He drew it; the blade cast a blue glow over the rooftop. "Not bad. The Jedi – I like it."

            "I thought aurors didn't carry those anymore," Lupin commented.

            "They don't. Fudge banned them. As he's no longer my employer …" He spread his hands in a 'there you go' gesture. 

Lupin nodded. "Useful things, I bet."

            "Uh huh. This is my second one; the first one saved my life from Voldemort."

            Lupin and Neville both shuddered at the name.

            "Is that a really long wizard swear or what?" Faith asked, noting their reactions.

            "S'a name," Spike told her around his cigarette. "He's the Big Bad in these parts, a right nasty dark wizard. People fear his name around here, so don't use it." She nodded. "What say we dispense with the chit chat and get with the fightin'? I wanna see how the Boy Wonder's been doing."

            Neville paled. He had never performed for an audience before. This was something private.

            "Don't worry about it, Neville," Lupin said, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "We're not here to judge you. I was just curious what they're teaching you." He looked expectantly at Faith.

            "Oh, I'm just hanging 'cuz I've got nothing better to do. Don't mind me."

            "Relax, Longbottom," Spike said, "if anything, we'll let you spar with Faith, get a feel for a new opponent."

            "Is everybody finished discussing how they won't be a part of my lesson?" Grey asked quietly. They nodded. "Good. Neville, ignore them. We're doing something different today, and you need to be focused. Got it?"

            Neville gulped and nodded.

            "Now," Grey said, reaching into an enormous canvas hold-all laying on the roof, "We've done short swords, daggers, and knives. We've done crossbows. We skipped staves until we can get Giles up here, since I'm useless with those…"

            "She didn't bother me with them, either," Faith chipped in.

            "… but there is something I want you to learn, and I think you're ready." He withdrew two long swords from the bag; each measured nearly five feet in length. "That's really big swords, in case you hadn't guessed," he added with a grin. He handed one to Neville. "Be careful."

            Neville ran his hand over the flat of the wooden blade, grasping it around the metal handle. The hilt was a lot heavier than the blade.

            "On most swords the weight is distributed differently, but this is the easiest to learn on. Now, here's what you do …"

            As Grey ran through grips and demonstrated basic parries and blocks, Lupin, Spike, and Faith watched with interest.

            "He was about as awkward and clumsy as you can imagine when I was here," Lupin said to Spike.

            The vampire expelled a cloud of smoke. "He was that when we started too, mate. Got better, learned some balance and whatall. He's not bad for a regular human."

            "You trained him?" Faith said skeptically. She had a hard time seeing Spike as a role model for a young wizard.

            "I was workin' with Grey, sparring and such. He knew Longbottom's parents back in the day." Spike paused to watch as Neville mimicked Grey's movements, parrying a phantom strike, "I guess they did something for his parents. Don't know the details, but I know they aren't around anymore."

            "Those are some weird looking swords."

            "Wizards're a bit different than most, as far as weapons go." Spike knew why Grey had started Neville with these particular ones, but he could smell the werewolf on Lupin and wasn't sure how much to trust him.

            "So, you think you see?" Grey was asking Neville. The boy nodded, his knuckles white on the practice hilt. "Okay, let's try it, then. Slow motion first. Nothing fancy."

            Grey slipped his foot under the hilt of his practice sword and flipped it from the ground to his hand. Neville brought his blade up as well, his face scrunched in concentration.

            The wood swung ponderously towards him. Neville deflected it down and to his right. Grey wasted no time, bringing it back on the same arc for a backhanded strike. Neville was prepared for it, though, and he sloughed it off harmlessly the other way.

            Pulling back quickly, Grey began a slow circle around him. Short, jabbing strikes interspersed with wild roundhouse blows, all of them arriving from different angles as Grey moved around him faster and faster. Neville, as he had been taught endlessly, kept his feet square and steady, carving out a smaller arc with his own pivots.

            "He looks confident in there," Lupin commented.

            Spike only grunted, curious to see what would come next. He didn't have to wait long.

            With lightning speed, Grey knifed in and shredded Neville's defenses. His practice sword skidded into the darkness. Weaponless at the point of Grey's sword, Neville slowly backed away. The auror advanced mercilessly.

            "G-Grey? I-I lost the sword. It's over, yeah?" Neville asked, clearly embarrassed.

            "Would it be over in a real fight?" He waved the sword two feet from Neville's chest.

            "Well, yeah. Wouldn't it?"

            "C'mon, Longbottom, what'd I teach ya before?" Spike called from the sidelines.

            Grey swung the wooden blade, intent on delivering Neville the lesson with a nasty bruise on his chest.

            Except Neville wasn't their when the blade landed.

            As the auror began his swing, Neville saw what was happening. He had been through this before – the lesson only ended when he lost. Losing usually meant bruising, or at least some pain. He decided he wasn't giving Grey any free shots today and in the next instant he dropped down to the floor. The practice sword whizzed over his head and Grey actually stumbled forward a step. _Fight dirty_, Spike always told him; with Grey momentarily out of position, Neville took advantage by kicking him in the groin.

            Grey doubled over, the empty pain shooting through his gut and setting his brain on fire. In the background, he heard Spike, Faith, and Lupin laughing. Neville scrambled to his feet and kicked the practice sword away. He stood waiting, one fist extended and the other held loosely at his side, for Grey to recover from the blow.

            "No free shots," he repeated, this time out loud, between pants. "Sorry, Grey."

            Grey looked up at him and forced a smile.

            "No problem, Neville," he wheezed. "Damn, though … did you have to hit me so hard?"

            Spike, Faith, and Lupin only laughed harder.

            "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it," Lupin told Grey as the four of them stepped past the portrait of Sir Cadogan. Neville had departed for the Gryffindor common room.

            "You knew his parents, right?"

            Lupin nodded. "Yeah, but Neville … I mean, the resemblance to his mother is more than looks. They're a great deal alike. I knew he had courage, I just never figured he could master something like the combat skills you've shown him."

            "He worked hard," Spike said, flicking his cigarette away into the stone hallway. "All summer, too, it seems. He couldn't've done that this spring."

            "Done what?" Willow asked. She occupied a chair in front of Grey's fireplace. Xander was behind her, looking over Grey's toy collection.

            "He got the Jedi where it counts," Spike chortled. Grey glared at him.

            "What do you … oh," Willow said, glancing at Grey's crotch as she got it. "Right. Where it counts."

            Grey crossed the room and kissed her soundly. "Don't worry. I'm sure everything's in working order."

            She leaned in and whispered, "Don't you worry. I'll kiss it and make it all better." When she pulled back, she was blushing mightily, but she had a naughty smile on her face.

            "Uh oh. Red's getting' horny. Watch out," Faith said, smiling as Willow's blush deepened. The Slayer turned her gaze to the toys on the wall. "So you still have 'em, huh?"

            "I do," Grey said proudly. Faith shook her head in amusement.

            "These … toys are yours?" Lupin asked.

            "Uh huh."

            "They're muggle toys, aren't they? They seem somewhat …"

            "Still?"

            "Indeed."

            "Most of them, yeah."

            "Interesting." Lupin raised an eyebrow, giving Grey a very canine appraisal. "Unexpected from a guy hired to protect Harry and his friends."

            "What can I say?" Grey shrugged. "Will thought it was weird, too. Maybe I should buy some tatami mats and candles, liven the place up a bit."

            "Wait a minute," Xander said, "wizard toys move? Like the pictures?"

            "Yeah, they do," Grey said. "Here, check these out – they're the only ones I have." He pulled a box off the end table and handed it to Xander. "Dumbledore gave this to me yesterday. He got two sets free and gave me one."

            Xander opened the box and found two six-inch figures embedded in gray foam. Each figure was a wizard, complete with cotton robes, hat, wand, and familiar. One of the figures was a miniature Dumbledore, his hair blonde rather than white. A miniature phoenix squawked next to his shoulder.

            "That is SO cool! Will, check it out!" Xander took the figures out and set them on the table. Everyone crowded around. The miniature Dumbledore looked up at them with a kindly smile. A replica of Fawkes rested on his shoulder. His counterpart, a weaselly-faced man with dark hair and an ornate black robe patterned with gold, scowled at the people looking down on him. His familiar, a black leopard, crouched at his side. "Who's the ugly guy?"

            "Grindelwald," Lupin said. Grey nodded. "Dumbledore defeated him in 1945 – he was a British wizard battling against the Ministry during the Second World War."

            "A Nazi?" Willow asked.

            "No," Lupin said, his voice changing slightly as his professor side emerged. "The Nazis hated wizards and stamped them out or enslaved them. But with so many Ministry wizards on the front lines – Hitler had no problem using half-breeds and other races as cannon fodder, and Churchill had no problem taking any help that was offered against them – there was a definite lack of defenses surrounding wizard Britain. Grindelwald thought he could use the opening to overthrow the Ministry."

            "He was as bad as they come," Grey added. "The first He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sort of."

            "Creepy. Why d'you have these?" Willow asked.

            "Big Huge Toys sent two sets to Dumbledore, some sort of 'Great Battles of the Wizarding World' thing they're promoting. They wanted his okay to sell them. He gave me a set since he knew I'd appreciate it. He thought it was pretty neat. His set is propped up in his office, next to his chocolate frog card."

            "He's kind of an odd duck, huh?" Faith asked.

            "Maybe. Jus' don't be the one tryin' to keep him from the ducklings," Spike replied darkly.


	36. Get Ready

            "Parkinson, I swear to god if I hear that banshee cackle you masquerade as a giggle one more time, I'll break your bloody arm!"

            Pansy's thin lips clamped together so loudly that Draco heard them clack. Blaise Zabini quickly followed her lead.

            "You think this is a game? You think if Dumbledore or McGonagall gets wind of this we won't be joining your mum for a spell?"

            "I know the risks, Draco, and I remember what happened to my mother," Pansy said in her sweetest voice of apology. "I just didn't realize you were beginning is all. I'll be quiet now."

            Draco turned his back to hide the roll of his eyes. When would Parkinson learn that no matter how much she sucked up to him, he wasn't having any?

            "I'm ready, too, Draco. Go on, tell us," Blaise said. "What's the plan going to be?"

            He sighed and spoke over his shoulder. "First of all, I want it explicit. No one gets hurt badly. Cuts and bruises are fine, but no serious damage."

            "Aww," Pansy whined, "they're only mudbloods, Drake. Who cares if …"

            "The Dark Lord cares."

            The use of Voldemort's honorific brought silence to Snape's classroom.

            "Surely our lord doesn't mind hurting a few mudbloods," Ted Nott said seriously. His thin, pointy nose bobbed up and down as he spoke, but his dark eyes revealed his inner gravity. Of all the Slytherins who had crossed over, Draco knew Nott was the most loyal to Voldemort's cause. The rat-faced boy made him nervous; Nott would kill him in a heartbeat if his treason came to light.

            "Of course he doesn't. Isn't it obvious, though?" Draco turned and met the boy's beady eyes. "He has grander plans than stirring up trouble in Hogsmeade. We are a distraction, nothing more. Severe injuries will bring Ministry attention, and I, for one, seriously doubt we could hide our involvement from an inquiry. Or perhaps you'd like Robert Grey or Kingsley Shacklebolt to have a turn pumping you for information?"

            "Certainly not."

            Draco pointed to three brown packages laid out on Snape's desk.

            "Your robes for the day are in those. I presume all of you know a concealment spell for sneaking them into Hogsmeade?" They nodded. "When we get there, we'll find a place to change and stash the packages there. We'll start things off at eleven sharp. Everyone'll be there by then. We can cause the most chaos that way."

            "We can fade into the crowd afterwards as well," Nott said.

            "That's right." Draco quickly sketched out everyone's role in his plan. Though it took several more threats before Pansy paid proper attention, and Draco's temper nearly boiled over again, they eventually understood what to do. "Just like that," he said at the end. "As I said, we'll start at eleven at the Three Broomsticks. Clear?" They nodded. "Now, what do you do if you get caught?"

            "Deny everything," Blaise offered. "Protect the Dark Lord at all costs."

            "Yes to the second, no to the first," he answered.

            "What? Surely we should deny it?"

            "If they catch you with your mitts in the cookie jar, Blaise, denial comes a little tough. Don't bother. Tell them it was a prank that I put you up to."

            "You can't be serious," Pansy said. "Give you up? For god's sake, why?"

            "Because I have had special training from my father," Draco lied. "They won't squeeze much out of me beyond that I thought it would be a bit of sport. Better I fall than the Dark Lord."

            "Much better," Nott agreed.

            "We wouldn't give you up if you didn't force us to, Drake," Pansy said in her oily voice.

            Malfoy, who knew she would turn on him in a heartbeat, had endured as much of her company as he could stand.

            "I am, Parkinson, so don't even consider the alternative. Now take these two back to the common room – I have a patrol to do. And Pansy?"

            "Yes, Drake?"

            He gave her his sweetest smile. "Call me Drake one more time and I'll cut out your bloody tongue."

            "Hermione?"

            She looked up from her History of Magic text. Neville was milling halfway between her couch and the door. They were alone in the common room, and he had a look on her face she had never seen before, a mixture of fear and determination. The hair on the back of her neck started to rise.

            "Hello, Neville. What's going on?"

            He edged closer.

            "Oh, not much, um, you?"

            She held up the textbook. "Reading about the first extinction of the orcs by Marvin the Morose. Did you know that he claimed to want to wipe out the orcs because one of them killed his favorite pony as a child?"

            "That's nice." He was looking all around the room, everywhere but at her.

            "Are you alright, Neville? You seem a little distracted."

            "What? Oh, distracted, um, sort of." He finally looked at her. "I … there's something I need to speak with you about, if that's okay?"

            Hermione's stomach rolled over. She was too smart and too good at understanding people not to know what Neville's question was leading to.

            "Sure." She put the book aside with trembling hands, fearing what was coming. She didn't want to hurt him, but if he said what she thought he was about to, it could be problematic. "What's up?"

            "I-it's sort of complicated," Neville said shakily. He sat down on the edge of an armchair. "See, there's this thing going on in my head, and I thought maybe if I talked to you about it, and since you're …"

            "Neville," she cut him off, "before you say anything else, you should know that I'm still with Ron, and I'm really committed to him. I think you're nice, but …"

            "What?" He met her eyes, with his full of confusion. "Of course you're with Ron. What does that … oh. Oh," his face broke into a timid smile, "you thought … it isn't about you, Hermione. I just – there's this girl, an' I know you're really good about people things, you know? I thought you could help me. But the girl isn't you."

            The knot in her stomach unraveled itself. She chuckled as the wave of relief passed through her.

            "Of course I'll help, Neville. Sorry about that."

            "No trouble. I like you a lot, you know that, but not that way." He frowned again. "Before I say anything, I need to know, though – can we keep this between us?"

            "Definitely." Her brow furrowed. Suddenly it hit her. "It's Dawn, isn't it?" Neville, never the chatterbox, had been as silent as a corpse at meals since Dawn began eating with them.

            He gulped and nodded. "Uh huh. I've been kind of obvious, I'm sure."

            "You do get rather quiet when she appears," Hermione agreed.

            "It's just … she's a muggle, you know? And I kind of get the feeling she's a little odd, even for a muggle. I like it," he added quickly, "it just throws me off. I don't know what to say without sounding stupid."

            "Do you talk to her at all?"

            He shook his head. "Too nervous. We talked a little last year, after You-Know-Who attacked, and a little the night she got here, but not really since then. I'm not even sure I feel anything real, either – I just know that she seems really nice and I think she's beautiful. I want to get to know her a little, but it's really not going well," he said with a shrug.

            "She's only been here a little while, Neville. I'm sure boys are not high on her priority list right now."

            "I know. I'm not about getting her to fancy me or anything. Not yet. I just want to talk to her, but …" He shrugged again. "I hate being shy, even though I can't help it."

            "So what are you asking me?"

            "I guess … I dunno, I want to be in a position to, y'know, hang out with her more. I thought you might be able to help. And," he said sheepishly, "I kind of wanted to talk to someone about it. Usually I handle this stuff by myself, but … Dawn's sort of different."

            Hermione nodded, grinning. "She is that." She paused in thought, then widened her grin. "You're going to Hogsmeade on Saturday, right?"

            "Uh huh."

            "So are we. Dawn needs a costume for the Halloween Ball, and so do Ginny and I. Harry and Ron are tagging along just because. You can, too, if you want. That way we'll all be there, no pressure or anything."

            "That would be nice," he agreed. "Isn't it a little obvious, though?"

            "No, I don't think so. I'll get Ron to ask you along because I heard you say you were going costume shopping. Are you?" Neville nodded. "She knows you hang out with us. It shouldn't even be a consideration for her," Hermione said, knowing in spite of her words that it would be fairly obvious _if _Dawn was looking for it. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, to her way of thinking. It would also let her and Ginny sound Dawn out on the possibility. Hermione had no idea how Dawn felt about Neville, or even what kind of boys Dawn might like, but she knew that Neville was as nice as they came. He was even sort of cute, now that he had grown some and lost a bit of his baby fat.

            The more she thought about it, the better the idea sounded.

            "Okay, if you think so." The more Neville thought about it, the more nervous he felt.

            "I do." She put a comforting hand on his arm. "It will be fine, Neville. Just come with us and be yourself. No pressure, remember?"

            "Right. No pressure."

            "Postponed," Mel said, dropping heavily into the seat next to Harry at Friday dinner.

            Ron leaned around his friend. "Postponed? What d'you mean? Why?"

            "Hufflepuff's got the measels. The whole team."

            "So they forfeit, yeah?"

            She shook her head. "They asked Hooch for an exception, since the disease has only a three-week life. Said they'd play without practice when they're better. With the schedule, she couldn't sub one of the other teams in." The opening matches had been lined up as a doubleheader for the first time in fifty years. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were supposed to play first, followed by Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

            "Did you argue it?" Harry asked.

            "No. Hopkins an' I talked through the quarantine wall. Neither of us really wanted to miss a match, is what it came down to. We can use another three weeks of practice anyway."

            Harry and Ron nodded. They didn't have enough matches left to skip one, even for a victory. Besides, they knew Hufflepuff would be an easy win without any practice time.

            "Sounds good to me," Harry said.

            "It stinks that we have to wait three more weeks," Ron complained, "but at least we get to play. When's the next one after that?"

            "January. Slytherin."

            "We need a match before Slytherin," Harry said. 

It was Mel's turn to nod. "Two beaters and two chasers, all green? Yeah, I thought of that, too."

"Thought of what?" Hermione said as she, Dawn, and Ginny sat down.

            "That the Quidditch team's mostly new, and we don't want the first match to be a thrashing by Slytherin," Ron answered. "First Quidditch match is postponed 'til November."

            "Oh, that's unfortunate."

            "Quidditch?" Dawn asked.

            "Think football, er, soccer," Harry amended, remembering that Dawn was American, "but in the air with hands and on broomsticks."

            "That cleared it right up. Sure." She rolled her eyes. "Sounds like something I need to see before I get it."

            "Yeah, but you'll see what I mean right quick."

            Mel was staring at Dawn and blinking. "Not sure we've met. You're the muggle, right? The one Dumbledore introduced?" Her tone was strangely neutral.

            Dawn nodded. "Uh huh. Dawn Summers."

            "I'm Melissa Norton. Call me Mel – everyone does."

            "Sure. You must be a Gryffindor, if you're here."

            "Uh huh. Fifth-year, though. I'm the Quidditch Captain."

            "Oh. That must be nice."

            Mel nodded. The two girls settled into an awkward pause.

            _What's her deal?_ Dawn wondered. She was getting a very weird vibe from this girl.

            Neville chose that moment to sit down and join them. Ron picked up the slack in the conversation.

"'Ey, Neville."

"'Ey, Ron. "

"Mione said you were costume shoppin' tomorrow, right? Harry an' I are going with the girls if you want to come with us."

            "That'd be good. I just need something simple," he added, studiously not looking at Dawn.

            "What say we meet outside the Three Broomsticks at eleven?"

            "A'right."

            "On that note," Mel said, "I've gotta run. Essay for Snape that I haven't done yet." 

            "Best finish that," Harry said.

            "Definitely. See you all later. Nice to meet you, Dawn," she added in a voice Dawn thought was rather cool. She got up, gathered her things, and left.

            Dawn looked at Hermione. "What's that girl's damage?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "You didn't think she was a little, um, unfriendly? Usually people know me for awhile longer before they don't like me."

            "I didn't notice anything."

            "Me either," Ron said. Harry shook his head, too.

            "I'm telling you, something's up there."

            "Y'know what is weird? We don't have an essay due for Snape," Ginny said. "Unless she means the one from Tuesday, but I thought I saw her hand it in."

            "Maybe he made her redo it," Neville suggested. "I've had to do things three or four times for him."

            "That's probably it," Ginny agreed. "Still odd, though."

            Ron shrugged and changed the subject. "So we're all set, then? Tomorrow, Three Broomsticks, at eleven?"

            The other five heads nodded.


	37. Scare Tactics

            "God, how long does it take to make a bathroom run? Geez," Dawn complained, casting around for Hermione and Ginny. She and Neville were loitering in front of the Three Broomsticks; Ron and Harry were nowhere to be found, either. She had written them off as simply late, but Ginny and Hermione had walked over with her before ducking inside ten minutes earlier.

            Neville shrugged. His stomach had twisted into a tight ball that seemed to cut off all air flow to his mouth.

Dawn stopped looking around and, tired of standing around not talking, asked Neville, "So do you know what you're going as?"

            "To the … um, dance?" _Of course to the dance. What's wrong with you_, he asked himself, feeling foolish.__

            "Do you wear costumes to dinner a lot?" She raised an eyebrow.

            _Ah, to hell with it. She'll like you or she won't. _"Only if I haven't put out my wash for awhile."

            To his great delight, Dawn laughed loud and long.

            "Honestly, though, I dunno what to go as. Thought I'd see what they have."

            "What's your date going as? You could match."

            "Ah, well, no date, you see." He shrugged. "Gives me some room for bein' creative, at least."

            "Don't feel bad. I don't have one either. At least you know everyone there."

            "That's true."

            "Being the new girl? So not what I had planned for the fall."

            "I bet it's a little different here than at home, yeah?"

            "Big-time. No monsters, though, which I'm good with. Plus I don't go to a boarding school."

            "No?"

            "Uh uh. It's more like a psycho ward with day classes." Then Dawn explained to a fascinated Neville about Sunnydale High.

            In the alley next to the Three Broomsticks, four robed figures pulled out their wands. They were already behind schedule.

            "Dammit, Parkinson! I said eleven."

            "Sorry, Drake – Draco. I really had to go to the bathroom, but Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger were in there for an age," she whined. "I hate that mudblood Granger. I'm going after her first."

            "Fine. Do that," Draco said, secretly glad. Hermione would wipe the floor with Pansy, and he would get to watch. "Are we ready?"

            "Malfoy?"

            Draco spun around, searching for the owner of the distinctly feminine voice.

            "Norton? What are you doing back here?"

            "What am I doing here? What's with those robes? What are you URK …"

            Nott grabbed her from behind and wrapped his forearm tightly around her throat. His other hand held a four-inch, curved knife, the point aimed straight for her heart. The naked blade gleamed in the sunlight.

            Mel's eyes went wide. A muffled whimper escaped her throat as Nott brought the knife closer.

            "Are you insane? Let her go."

            "Don't need to. I can handle her."

            "Why the hell've you got that knife?"

            "Insurance," Nott hissed. "Good thing, too. I'll gut her and we can start."

            Draco flipped off his hood and lunged at them, grabbing Nott's arm just in time to keep the knife from slicing the front of her robes. The thinner boy tried to press down, but Draco locked his arm in an iron grip. 

The blade shimmered inches from her chest.  

            "I repeat: are you insane? Drop the damn knife."

            "She's seen us, Draco. We can get rid of her. No one will know. She's just a mudblood, after all."

            Draco looked so angry that Mel wondered if he might snort fire.

            "Did you not hear what I said? NO SERIOUS INJURIES, YOU WANKER!" He twisted Nott's arm backwards. Hard. The knife clattered to the cobblestones and Nott dropped to one knee clutching his elbow. Draco knew he was crying beneath the dark hood. "That's not what we're here for. The plan was clear, was it not?"

            "Yes, Draco," he answered softly.

            "Then get out there and do it. I'll be along shortly."

            "What are you doing?" Pansy asked. "We need you."

            "Just get started. I'll join in."

            "But – "

            "No buts. I'll do a memory charm on her, so we don't get caught. Understood?" The three hooded figures nodded.

            "I'm not just going to let you …"

            Draco whipped his wand out in a heartbeat. His voice was like ice.

            "Shut up, Norton. We've still got the knife, if you'd prefer a permanent reminder instead of forgetting the whole thing."

            She stared silently at his wand for a few seconds, then nodded tentatively.

            He turned to the others. "Go. Now."

            They slipped around the back of the Three Broomsticks and disappeared into the shadows.

            Draco kicked the knife into the trees. His wand stayed on her.

            "Now listen carefully. Can you do that?"

            She nodded.

            "Say yes."

            "Yes."

            "We're pulling a prank on Potter and his friends. Nothing serious, but Nott is one for the loony bin. The other two are Zabini and Parkinson."

            "Why are you telling me this?"

            "I want you to understand that I have to get out there. They were the only ones willing to go along, but I don't trust them not to hurt some stupid mudblood and get us all tossed from school. Times like this I really miss Crabbe and Goyle. They were too stupid to be overzealous about mudbloods."

            "Don't say that word."

            He glared at her; in spite of the situation, she had her hands on her hips, looking extremely haughty. _And bloody gorgeous_, he thought.

            "You're not in much of a position to tell me what to do. Not that I'd mind if you were," he added with a leer. She returned a disgusted look. "I'm telling you so you won't go an' rat me out to Dumbledore. I don't have time to argue, or someone _will_ get hurt."

            "Why don't you just wipe my memory like you said?" she spat.

            He shrugged, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly.

            "Don't know how."

            Her expression softened as she realized the risk he was taking. "They'd hurt you if they knew you let me go."

            "Oh yeah. A lot."

            "You harm a member of my team at all and I tell. Them and Dumbledore."

            "I won't. Just a scare."

            "You promise?"

            "Would it mean anything?" The nod surprised him. "Then I promise."

            She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, the same way she had weeks before in Myrtle's bathroom.

            Draco would never be as shocked as he was when Mel leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

            "Thank you for saving me," she said in a breathy whisper. "Now you go."

            "No wonder they call it the Hellmouth. Unbelievable," Neville said, shaking his head.

            "You should try living there. It keeps things interesting, though."

            "Right interesting, I'll bet," he agreed. Listening to Dawn talk loosened the knot in his stomach considerably. She seemed happy to dominate the conversation, which was fine with Neville. This was shaping up to be one of the better days of his Hogwarts career. He suddenly hoped she wasn't getting bored talking to him. "Listen, should we go look for them? They've been gone a touch longer than normal."

            Dawn frowned. "I'm boring you that much?"

            "What? No." She didn't change her expression. "Really, Dawn, you're not. I'm happy to stand here talking with you all day," he admitted, flipping her frown to a smile. "I just thought you'd want to go and get, um, someone else to talk to or something."

            Her smile broadened, but she never got a chance to reply. A deep, scratchy voice interrupted them.

            "Look, this is even better. Not a mudblood, but a real muggle."

            Three hooded figures appeared from around the side of the pub. They had their wands out.

            Neville automatically reached into his robe.

            "EXPELLIARMUS!" a second voice shouted; Neville's wand flew out of his robe and into the distance.

            "Who are you guys? More of those freaky Gregorians from Sunnydale?" Dawn asked. She automatically dropped into a combat stance. Beside her, Neville unconsciously did the same.

            "Let's make her dance. MOBILICOMPOS!"

            Neville threw Dawn to the ground, feeling his robe ruffle as Pansy's spell to whizzed by harmlessly. He rolled over Dawn, figuring he would apologize later for slamming her into the pavement, and bounced to his feet close to the three attackers. The nearest one trained a wand on him, but his momentum brought his foot up and through her hand.

            Blaise shouted in pain as Neville kicked her wand away. Out in the street, people started to take notice. They heard the first shouts for the authorities. Neville tensed for whatever curse was about to blast away at him.

            None came. Dawn scrambled up off the pavement, tossing an elbow into one stomach and her knee into the other as she went. Pansy stumbled and fell, her wind thoroughly disrupted. Nott shrugged Dawn's knee off, taking the opportunity to wrap her up and tackle her back to the pavement.

            "Aah!" Dawn cried as she felt a rib snap.

            Enraged, Neville charged at them. Just as Spike had promised, the world seemed to move in slow motion. With all the strength he could muster, Neville walloped Nott in the face with a perfect snap kick.

            The Slytherin boy flew backwards, bouncing across the pavement until his momentum died and he came to rest in a moaning heap. Neville spun towards Pansy and Blaise. The fierce look in his eyes sent them back a step even as their wands rose again.

            Luckily for them, the cavalry on both sides chose that moment to arrive.

            "STUPEFY!" Ron and Harry shouted together, bursting from the door of the Three Broomsticks and into the fight. Their spells took Pansy and Blaise in the chests. They fell backward, stumbling over Nott and dropping to the ground facedown. Draco rushed from the alley, his hood up again, and pulled his wand out.

            "FUMO!"

            Thick black smoke hissed from Malfoy's wand, roiling around the four Slytherins in a dense circle and hiding them from view. Harry and Ron jumped between Neville, Dawn, and the smoke, their wands still extended. They started coughing as the smoke thickened; it forced its way into their lungs, forcing them in turn back against the side of the building. Ron and Harry held their fire in case someone was on the far side of the cloud, but they watched as best they could for the emergence of their attackers. They couldn't see a thing. The barrier left them no choice but to wait for the smoke to clear, which took almost five minutes.

            When it did, the four robed figures had vanished. 

Harry and Ron paced impatiently back and forth at the foot of Dawn's bed. Neville perched on the bed next to hers, while Spike and Xander stood guard by the door. Willow, Giles, McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore were meeting to discuss the attack and had promised to send for the Gryffindors when they were ready. Sirius, Remus, and Grey were doing a sweep of the grounds to make sure no one was lurking about.

            "They dressed like Death Eaters. D'you think they were Death Eaters? Here?" Ron asked for the third time.

            "It's happened before," Harry said. 

Ron shook his head as if to clear it. "But not in Hogsmeade, right?"

            "Not in Hogsmeade. Not in years, Lupin said. At least no one was hurt too bad."

            "You're okay, right?" Neville asked Dawn, for what had to be the tenth time.

            She nodded. "Yep. Whatever that Pomfrey woman gave me worked like …"

            "Magic?" he offered.

            "Yeah, like magic. Oh, very funny," she said when he laughed. "Really, though, I feel fine. I don't see why I have to stay overnight."

            "It's a precaution, nibblet," Spike said.

            "Yeah, Dawnie, just to be safe," Xander agreed. Then he glanced distastefully at Spike. "Not that I think Junior here is right."

            "Sod off, Harris."

            Dawn and Neville laughed, and she had to admit it caused a twinge in her chest. She didn't tell Xander or Spike, though. Instead, she spoke to Neville.

            "Thanks again. I don't want to know what that first spell would have done to me."

            "I dunno," he shrugged. "Hermione might know. You should ask her."

            "Like I said, don't want to know. Knowledge free, that's me."

            "You did a'right, Longbottom," Spike said. "Made it worth the hours we spent kicking you around on the roof."

            The door to the infirmary opened. Giles, Willow, and Dumbledore walked in; Dumbledore held the door open for a few seconds behind him, then let it swing shut.

            "I'm glad you're all here." He looked at Spike and Xander. "Could you two step out and see that we aren't disturbed, please?"

            They nodded and left. When the door had closed a second time, he pulled out his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

            Malfoy appeared in the middle of the room.

            "What the hell … isn't Mione always telling us you can't apparate here?"

            "Wasn't apparition, Weasley," Draco said. "He made me invisible so no one would see me walking with them from his office."

            "Yes, quite," Dumbledore said.

            "Oh. Cool."

            "Dawn, how are you feeling?" Giles asked. Willow took a seat on the side of Dawn's bed and smiled kindly at her. The redhead grabbed her left hand and clutched it tightly.

            "Better, Giles. I drank some goop and slept a little, and now it barely hurts at all. The nurse lady said I'd be fine in the morning."

            "Is there anything you need, Dawnie? We can have them send up more food. Or I could get you some books or some of Grey's toys – no, you're too old for toys and they're guy's stuff anyway – or I could …"

            "Willow," Dawn said, squeezing Willow's hand, "I'm fine, okay. Really. Did you call Buffy?"

            Giles and Willow traded a look. Dawn could tell they had been arguing about it.

            "We did not, Dawn," Giles answered. "She has enough on her plate at the moment, and I … we felt that if it wasn't serious, there was no need."

            "Good call. I'm down with that one." 

            Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"Draco has something he would like to share with the four of you, if that's alright." Everyone nodded. The Headmaster turned and cast an isolation charm on the room.

            "What's that?" Harry asked.

            "Today, in Hogsmeade, it was me with the smoke."

            "What!" Ron exploded, his fist coming up as he rushed Malfoy. "You son of a …"

            Dumbledore stepped between them.

            "Ron, please, while I appreciate that you are a bit put out, allow Draco to explain."

            Ron's eyes narrowed, but he pulled back and nodded.

            Draco explained about his father's assignment and his whole plan, including the incident with Norton. "You see, Weasley," he said when he had finished, "it would've been fine if Nott didn't have that damn knife. I was trying to do this without blowing my cover, without the Slytherins suspecting anything, and without anybody getting bloody well hurt." He looked at Dawn. "Sorry about that, but I'd rather they broke your rib than gutted Norton, you understand?"

            "I understand. Better this than stabbing, for sure." Despite her equanimity, Ron, Harry, and Neville looked no less angry after the explanation.

            "You should've told us beforehand," Harry said.

            "Don't be daft. You think you could fake it? You couldn't. This was perfect. None of them will possibly believe we're workin' together after that. An' I had plenty of other good reasons to go after you lot, not the least of which is that you can take care of yourselves," he added. "An' now we have a free tip that the Dark Lord is going to try something in the near future."

            Harry had to concede those two points. "What about Mel? She might suspect it."

            "Nah. She thinks …" He stopped himself, remembering that there were three professors in the room. "She thinks I have other reasons for savin' her, alright?"

            "Like what?" Ron and Willow asked together.

Dumbledore and Giles traded a look and a small chuckle.

"I believe Miss Norton thinks Draco smitten with her," Dumbledore explained.

            "Oh. That's kind of obvious," Willow said for both her and Ron. They each blushed at making Dumbledore say it aloud.

            "Are you, Malfoy?" Ron asked. If Draco said yes, he was prepared to bust out laughing.

            Draco didn't answer. He just raised an eyebrow.


	38. Playthings I: Playtime

Author's Note:

            Hey. It's me. I'm back. Sorry for the delay, but, as I warned in June, I moved and it set me back. Then all my drafts and notes were inadvertantly erased during a computer exchange in August, and I acquired the most massive case of writer's block I have ever endured. That said, here's the first update in awhile. They may be slow in the coming weeks, both because I'm very busy with real life, and because I'm still fighting a block, but hang in there. They will come. Thank you for your patience – it's greatly appreciated. Please let me know what you think (via review or email) as you read on. Things are about to get a little wonky. I think you'll like it. – 40

***************************************

            Malfoy Manor glittered like a jewel in the cold October night.

            Dark and foreboding had been the décor of choice at the manor for centuries. Generations of Lucius and Draco's ancestors employed shadows as the cloak for their nefarious activities, and it was the rare (and stupid) wizard who approached the manor for a closer look. Surrounded by trees, the house perched atop a low hill overlooking fields once rich with farm crops. Malfoy Manor stood as a blackened shrine to its owners' inner malice.

            Except, of course, on the night of the Autumn Gala.

            Since the very opening of the manor, the Malfoys had hosted a party for the elite of the wizarding world on the third night before Halloween. Dressed in their finest robes, the pure-blood aristocracy gathered for drinks, dancing, and merriment at the Malfoy's expense. As deep as wizard culture ran with grand and ancient tradition, few of the rituals carried the excitement of the Autumn Gala. An invitation signaled a family's blessed position in the wizarding world; a snub marked a pure-blood family in social decline.

Families that fell out of favor with the Malfoys would wait with baited breath for the signature Malfoy owl. If it failed to arrive, it was not unheard of for the family patriarch to abase himself before the Malfoy family and beg their forgiveness. Some spent an entire year paying tribute to the Malfoys in the faint hope of receiving another invitation. Such pleas rarely failed. Lucius enjoyed making them beg.

            Not everyone begged, of course. The Weasleys had never been, would never go, and, Molly Weasley would explain to her questioners in a most convincing tone, would "rather hunt dragons without wands than get an invitation to that dreadful place."

            Minister Fudge hardly shared that attitude, Lucius mused as he slipped in between his guests, deftly ignoring their hails and congratulations. The Minister, dressed in his finest robes and carrying a half-empty glass of blue liquid topped by an umbrella, stared overtly at a young witch in gauzy robes. The witch returned the stare with a seductively coy smile. Lucius clapped him on the shoulder, causing Fudge to half-turn around. His eyes stayed on the woman, and Lucius could see the flush of several drinks in his cheeks.

            "Lucius! Fabulous party, absolutely fabulous. As always, of course."

            "Thank you, Minister," Lucius said with his most oily grin. "It's good of you to come. I shudder to think what would happen if most of these people didn't have your lead to follow into my home."

            "Nonsense," Fudge said, his eyes finally turning back to Lucius, "absolute rubbish. This is the absolute high point of the social season. Who could miss this?" He gestured to the crystalline decorations cast by Narcissa's expert decorator. A full-size replica crystal dragon floated above the dance floor, and a dozen ice sculptures dotted the buffet tables. "Your wife does such a magnificent job, I doubt another event in the whole world is so richly appointed." Fudge's eyes flicked onto the young witch briefly. "The sights are splendid."

            _As they should be, Lucius thought with a glance at the girl himself, _for what I'm paying that whore to be here._ The witch in question would very shortly make the Minister's personal acquaintance, along with two of her friends. The three of them and their predecessors had taken a sizable chunk of the Malfoy fortune, but his influence with Fudge was more than worth the price. __And if he ever gets cold feet, well, those pictures move in the most interesting ways._

            "I'm glad you're enjoying things, Cornelius. If you need anything at all, I am of course your humble servant."

            "Thank you, Lucius," Fudge said absently; the witch had taken Lucius' cue and started drifting towards them.

            "If you'll excuse me, I must mingle or risk upsetting Narcissa."

            "Of course, of course." 

Fudge wandered away towards the witch; Lucius spun and knifed his way to the buffet. Attempting to assuage his growling stomach, he devoured several delightful cheese pastries and a handful of bacon-wrapped shrimp. He knew that he shouldn't. Eating such things risked Cissa's wrath, something he truly sought to avoid, but he liked them too much. _One night a year my health can take a bloody holiday, he thought, glancing around for his wife. She was nowhere in sight as he scarfed down a final shrimp. __Now, to business._ I wonder … damn. That fool.__

            The fool in question, a silver-haired man of middle years resplendent in an expensive maroon robe, had carved out a small pulpit for himself on the other side of the dance floor. As Lucius approached, he saw his guest holding court with a number of blue-haired Malfoy cousins, all from the elderly wing of his family that Cissa loved and he thought composed of doddering imbeciles. Hanging on to the man's arm was a striking brunette dressed in a shimmering aqua robe. Her attention and glassy eyes were raptly attuned to her companion's story, a small piece of which Lucius caught as he walked up to them.

            "So there I was, completely without my spell book or a stitch of clothing, the man's wife naked beside me, and his wand pointed at me in a rather unpleasant fashion. How I survived the night, well," he offered a practiced smile, "it simply is not a tale meant for such company."

            Several of the older women blushed and all of them tittered as the man began a flourishing end to his story. Lucius reached out and cut him off, apologizing to the ladies as he did.

            "Oh, Lucius, must you take him? He's just such a darling, and the stories he tells!" One of the women reached up and touched her forehead with the back of a wrinkly, liver-spotted hand. "So exciting, why, I just don't know if I can live without hearing the end of this one."

            "I'm sorry, Mildred my love, but I must borrow him for just a second."

            "Must you?"

            "I'm sorry, dear, but I must."

            "Oh, very well," his cousin said with a sigh. "Do hurry back," she told the man with a smile.

            "You won't even know I'm gone, madam. Why, you'll barely have time to freshen your drink." He smiled, revealing white, even teeth. "Now, if you beautiful ladies will excuse us?"

            The old women swooned as he and Lucius retreated to a darkened corner. The brunette followed along, her vacant stare suggesting that she had consumed nearly as many drinks as Fudge.

            "Are you insane?" Lucius hissed when they were alone. "I said you should come and meet me quietly. Where do I find you? At the center of the gossip circle of wizard Britain."

            "Come now, Mister Malfoy, just a bit of sport. Nothing to be concerned about," the man assured him. "Besides, we have little to discuss. The files you provided were most helpful."

            "You understand the plan, then?" _Finally_, Malfoy didn't add.

            "A brilliant one, Lucius old mate. Bloody brilliant. Don't worry, everything will be taken care of. This costume ball will be a perfect shroud for us. As long as the doll is where your man said, I'll have no problems."

            "Just make sure the two girls die. If you fail to accomplish that, my master will be extremely displeased."

            "I understand, believe me," the wizard said, not quite hiding the fear creeping into his voice. "The Weasley girl and the Granger girl. All part of the plan. Though I must say, I find it … a bit unseemly."

            "How you find it is not your concern. Should you fail, though, my master's vengeance will be temporarily refocused. I doubt you will fancy the direction."

            Ethan Rayne gulped audibly. Voldemort's wrath he could certainly live without. Possibly only without.

            "No need to worry your master. We'll take care of everything."

            Lucius eyed the women skeptically. She smiled back with the lazy smile of the thoroughly inebriated. "Are you certain your assistant will be up for it?"

            "I assure you, Lucius, that both Miss Madison and myself are quite capable of carrying our special brand of chaos into Hogwarts. They won't know what hit them."

            The yawn twisted Hermione's head, catching her hair on the pin and yanking it hard. The sharp pain burned her drowsiness away in a flash.

            "AAH!"

            Cordelia cringed. "Sorry! Sorry! That had to hurt. Sorry, Hermione."

            Hermione reached up and tentatively rubbed the injured spot. The touch forced an involuntary wince.

            "That's alright, Cordy. It wasn't your fault. I'm just overtired and standing in one place is perilously close to putting me to sleep."

            "Nothing like a good snarl and yank in the hair to wake you up, then. Too many late nights with that hunky boy who's always staring at you?" She slid the pin into Hermione's bun and patted it down.

            "Cordelia," came Willow's warning voice from across the room, "don't be giving her any, y'know, ideas." The redhead looked up from the dresses laid out in front of her and added a glare.

            "Oh, please. She's how old, sixteen, hon?" Hermione nodded, blushing at the conversation but not wanting to tell Cordy to stop. "When I was sixteen…"

            "You were doing things so not for the ears of youth."

            "I don't think Hermione needs any helpful ideas, 'least not from the way she's glowing red," Ginny said with a laugh. She had three pairs of shoes in front of her, along with swatches of the dress fabric. The enchantment for coloring the shoes refused to behave. Dawn watched her work, silently marveling at the girl's adept wand movements and wishing that being a Key would have let her do spells. Unfortunately, Dumbledore had tested her several times. The monks had made her all muggle.

            "Can we talk about something else?" Hermione asked hopefully. She thought about mentioning Neville somehow, but she stopped herself. It would only embarrass Dawn, and the last thing Hermione wanted to do would be to make Dawn as awkward around Neville as he was around her.

Instead, she hurriedly said, "Besides, I've barely seen Ron the last two weeks."

            "What's that about?" Cordelia slid another pin into Hermione's bound hair. Her nimble fingers deftly snatched up the few remaining loose strands as she reached for another.

            "She's Giles' research girl," Willow replied for Hermione.

            "Ah, doing slave-like legwork for a watcher. Why does that sound familiar?"

            "You used to help Willow and Buffy, right, Cordy?" Ginny asked.

            "Duh. I was only, like, the linchpin of the operation."

            "Right. We never would have made it without your stirred-not-cooked food and handy put-downs," Willow said, her tongue firmly embedded in-cheek. The new, mature Cordelia was a big hit with her, and the girl had only been there for an hour. She had insisted on helping the girls get ready in person this year, and Giles had wangled invitations for all of Angel Investigations, as well as Anya and the Weasley twins. Buffy had tried to beg off, claiming the need for a full night's sleep, but Willow and Xander convinced her to come anyway. Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, and Angel had joined Cordy for the trip.

            She let Willow's jibe go by. She had hit the girl with enough of them over the years. "Yeah, I read my share of monstery books and carved my share of stakes."

            "An' now you get visions?"

            She nodded, tilting Hermione's head slightly to check the side angle. "Uh huh."

            "What's it like?" Hermione asked. "I mean, is it like prophecies, where the words appear in the prophet's heads? Or is it more of a movie in your head?"

            "Not really. More like an acid flashback without the floaty feeling."

            Ginny raised both eyebrows; Hermione asked what that meant.

            "No acid here, Cordy," Dawn explained.

            "Sure we have," Hermione interjected, looking puzzled, "though I can't say I know what kind of a flashback it could give you."

            "She means LSD."

            "Oh. No, none of that."

"It's sort of … um, blurry, the picture part anyway," Cordy went on, "and I can just, like, feel stuff about what's going on." She shrugged. "It's kinda hard to explain. It does have the added bonus of making my head feel like it'll explode like a melon, though."

            "S'not my idea of fun," Ginny said.

            "Uh uh. You guys being witches sounds like way more fun."

            "Useful, too," said Ginny. She flicked her wand and each pair of shoes took on a new color. "A'right! Perfect! Shoes are ready."

            "So are the dresses," Willow said.

            Cordelia glanced over. "Nice, Gin. Much better than my last few Halloween costumes. A word to the wise, girls: as good as it sounds, don't dress up like a cat. Unitards are way more binding than they look."

            Ginny and Hermione traded a confused look as Willow and Dawn burst out laughing.

            "These … costumes … much better," Dawn gasped out. "Non-bindy, and you nailed that shimmering green color, Ginny."

            "Thanks," the Weasley girl replied. "I looked at the tape enough times in that smelly dungeon of Spike's. I should've got it right, I reckon."

            "Theme costumes," Cordelia said, shaking her head. The idea had been a good one, and she had a pale green dress of her own. "Gotta love 'em."

            "All right, Harry?"

            "Who picked this theme?" He jammed the pointy gray wizard's cap onto his head, wondering what his hair would look like when he took it off. "I look ridiculous, Ron. What wizard wears a gray hat?"

            "Nah you don't. No more than the rest of us. 'Sides, the girls like it, right? Wish I knew how to use this, though." He held up the longbow he had borrowed from Grey.

            "Sure, and they'd give ya arrows ta use it with, too, because everyone should carry weapons in school," said Seamus with a laugh. He and Dean both wore sets of borrowed Quidditch robes with full padding, which Seamus thought made him the spitting image of a professional. Harry and Ron thought otherwise, but kept it to themselves. "I like it. As themes go, s'a good one."

            "You've seen the movies?" Harry asked.

            "Me dad's a muggle, remember? He gave me the books."

            "Good?" Ron asked skeptically. Seamus nodded. "So this Legolas guy, he's not a … um, y'know … dork?"

            Seamus shook his head. "Nah, he's cool. Gandalf's better, though. He's a right bad-ass. I reckon he could give Professor Dumbledore a few minutes o' pause. You lucked out, Harry."

            "Could be worse," Neville said from across the room, where he was tightening the last straps on his fake set of armor, "you're not dressed up as a dwarf, after all. This axe is heavy."

            The others laughed; Seamus walked over and strapped it to Neville's back tightly. "Jus' shed the thing when ya get in, Neville. You'll be a'right. Can't dance with yer date with it, anyhow."

            "Shouldn't be too big a problem," Neville grunted. His only consolation was that of all the people in Lord of the Rings attire, only he and Dawn were dateless. He figured he would have ample chance to talk to her, since everyone she knew was in their party. Unlike the week before, that prospect wasn't making his stomach spin. "When are Fred an' George getting here, Ron?"

            "They're gettin' Alicia and Angelina first, an' comin' from there."

            The door to their dorm swung open and Xander leaned his head in. "You guys ready yet? The girls will be down in a few minutes." The hilt of a sword stuck out over his left shoulder, and the chain armor glittered in the candle light. Willow had appropriated them from one of the many suits lining the Hogwarts halls. "Grey's already down there waiting for us."

            The boys looked each other over one last time and nodded.


	39. Playthings II: The Dangerous Game

            Halloween cheer suffused the dining hall. Jack o' Lanterns lined the tables, their variety of facial poses lit up by candles that bordered the entire room with an orange glow. Dumbledore had pushed the tables back against the wall once again, allowing plenty of room for dancing and socializing. Orchestral music filled the whole space, its invisible source known only to the faculty. Not everyone was thrilled with the setup, of course, but they had been too polite to let Cordy come alone, and at least they had some shadowy corners to linger in.

            "All these kids can do spells. Unbelievable. We do see some grade-a whack stuff," Gunn muttered, resting his weight on the end of one table.

            "It certainly helps with their costumes, doesn't it?" Wesley replied. A few of the students stuck with authentic clothing and makeup, but most of what he saw had to be finely crafted illusion. One student, male or female he could not tell, had gone so far as to take on the appearance of a monstrous gorilla. The detail involved in the design, Wesley was certain, would have made Charlton Heston sit up and reach for a weapon.

            "I like it," Faith said. With a tilt of her head, she drained half a mug of mulled mead. "That's the point, right? Be who you're not? Yeah, I can definitely dig that."

            Angel half heard them, leaning as he was on a table to their left, buried in shadow and completely in brood mode. His eyes had quickly locked on Buffy, who had yet to even acknowledge his presence. The sight was far from comforting. She looked tired, her complexion pale and her affect completely depressed. She hung listlessly at Giles' side, not engaging in the revelry at all. From the stiffness in her Watcher's posture and his frequent glances her way, Angel knew that Giles noticed it too. She didn't look anything like the Buffy he remembered. The spark of life she clung to so fiercely seemed virtually dead. 

Angel had never seen her that way before, like she was simply too tired to go on. She hadn't looked that way a few hours earlier in Sunnydale. Standing in her living room waiting for Willow to play taxi, Buffy had been tired but chipper, excited by the prospect of seeing Willow and Xander and Dawn again. But almost from the moment of their arrival, her spark seemed to fade. She seemed like she had just chosen to let it fade the moment they arrived at Hogwarts.

            _Or, he thought with sudden alarm, __like someone had drained the spark from her._

            He pushed away from the table and marched across the room.

            "Buffy looks like hell," Grey said, handing Willow a glass of punch. She barely noticed as she took the glass and drank a sip; from the furrowed brow and vacant stare, he could feel her trying to figure the change out.

            "She wasn't like this a few weeks ago," Willow commented, talking as much to herself as him. "She was fine when they brought Dawn here. She sounded fine the week after that, on the phone. The last two weeks, though, I call her and it's all 'Hey Will," she let her voice trail off into silence at the end of the second word, "then nothing. She's usually not quiet Buffy unless something big is wrong. Even this afternoon, she was quiet but she looked way better than she does right now."

            "What did Anya say?"

            "She hasn't noticed anything, but, hello, it's Anya."

            "And that means?"

            "Anya notices Anya, and her money, and other stuff, too, but she's not so much with the perception." Willow turned, looking into his eyes with serious concern. "You know what I think?"

            "What?"

            "We shouldn't have taken away Dawn and Xander."

            "Except that the 'creepy bloody robe guys,' as you so accurately described them, were after the Key."

"Okay, sure, minus, but we should have left Xander. Something's doing this to her, Grey. I don't know how I know it. I just do. And without them there, it's like, Buffy's connection-less. There've been so many times where Buffy's tried to push us away because she's the Slayer, and we're, you know …"

            "Not?"

            "Right. She's the Slayer, and we're the Slayerettes. She needs us for more than just backup. We're her, y'know, her anchor."

            "Maybe you are," said Grey, "and maybe she is anchorless. Or maybe it's something simpler," he added, nodding at the dark figure of Angel cutting across the dance floor, his black coat billowing out behind him. "Maybe she's just lonely."

            "Uh uh. I know lonely Buffy. She's full of energy and looking to hit things with pointy wood. I mean, y'know, she's got the pointy wood, not the things she's going to hit have it …"

            He grinned. "I know what you meant, hon."

            "Oh. Well, good, then. But, um, I think someone's about to find out what's going on anyway," Willow said tentatively, her eyes tracing Angel's path and settling on his destination, "so shutting up now."

            "Angel, hi, I …" Angel cut Dawn off with a rough bump, knocking her aside and not bothering to apologize. She fell backwards into the waiting arms of Cordelia.

            "Whoa, rude much? I thought I had that boy trained better," Cordy barked angrily. Her vampiric boss ignored her.

            "What's got him so riled?" asked Hermione, stepping through the doorway with Ron, Harry, Ginny and Neville close behind.

            "Dunno," Ron answered for the rest of them. "Mus' be somethin' important. Say, you guys see … oh, there they are." He lifted his right arm, matching Fred's greeting across the room.

            "Your brothers?" Dawn said eagerly. "Fred's coming, right?"

            "He's there, with George an' Angelina, she's the black girl with Fred. The girl with George is Alicia. They're Gryffindors from Fred an' George's class."

            Dawn's eyes widened as she saw Fred's arm wrapped around Angelina's waist.

            "But they're just friends, right?"

            "Yeah, a'course," Ron said, taking no notice of the near-panic in Dawn's voice. "The girls are nutters for the two of 'em. Damned if I know why."

            "Wait, so they're … Fred and that girl are …" Dawn's hand involuntarily went to her mouth.

            "Dawn?" Hermione turned a concerned look on the younger Summers girl.

            "They've been dating for awhile," Ron confirmed, "since way before they graduated. Not steady or anythin', but sort of off and on. Mum thinks they'll get married, but I don't – "

            Hermione had just enough time to elbow Ron before Dawn spun and raced out of the room.

            "Mione, what the hell … hey, where'd she go?"

            Neville had his back to them already. He had seen the expression on Dawn's face. "I think," he said over his shoulder, "that Dawn fancied your brother, an' she didn't tell any of us, an' she didn't know about him and Angelina." He looked back at Hermione. "She's probably right embarrassed, don't you think?"

            Hermione nodded, wishing suddenly that she had brought up the subject of Neville after all. 

            "You should go see about her," Neville added. This time, Hermione shook her head.

            "You go, Neville. I know you want to."

            That brought questioning looks from the rest of the gang.

            "I-I don't think so, Hermione. I don't think it's appropriate."

            "Well, I do, Neville Longbottom, and if you don't, she's going to be sitting out there by herself, because I'm sure not going."

            Suitably intimidated, Neville stuttered out a sentence fragment, then gave up and left.

            "What's that all about, then?" Ron asked.

            "Neville likes Dawn," Ginny said offhandedly, looking around for the refreshments table. She saw it and dragged Harry off before Ron could reply.

            "Don't you say anything, either, Ron. You know how embarrassed Neville can get." Hermione glared at him for good measure. He nodded vigorously, and the two of them followed after Harry and Ginny.

            Angel's knuckles cracked loudly on Spike's pale jaw.

            "What the hell are you doing, Peaches? Sod off." Spike shoved the older vampire away. A few drops of whiskey slopped from his flask onto his hand. He licked them off, meeting Angel's eyes behind his hand.

            "What did you say to Buffy?"

            "Nothing. Not a bloody thing, dammit!"

            On the ground, even more hidden by the shadows than Spike, Sirius let out a warning bark in Angel's direction. Remus offered a more direct solution. Angel suddenly felt the wood of a wand dig into his neck.

            "Might I suggest that you not hit him again?"

            Angel's eyes flicked to Remus. His powerful sense of smell caught the scent of werewolf; a low growl rumbled in his throat.

            Spike smirked and took a pull on his flask. He was starting to enjoy life at Hogwarts. Even if Lupin was a bit uptight for his tastes, he and Black made quite the pair. 

            "Now kids, that's no way to behave at a fiesta like this. Easy big fella," Lorne said, steering Angel back several steps with his left hand. His right held a glass of fizzy orange liquid. He took a careful sip and sighed with contentment. "This is good stuff, I'll tell you that much. What do you folks call it again?"

            "Looks like a Bubbly Creamsicle," Lupin replied, pulling his wand back a bit.

            "Delish. I'll have to talk to somebody about exporting it. But anyway, Angelcakes," he patted the vampire on the shoulder, "I didn't come over here and restrain your surly behind just to talk about my drink."

            Angel shrugged his arm away and glared.

            "No, I came over because I don't need to hear the music to know that your little blonde thing is a wee bit upset."

            "Ya think we couldn't see that, ya scaly ponce?" Spike asked.

            "Shouldn't you be over there finding out what's wrong?" Lorne's expression made his suggested answer very clear.

            "Not when he's the one that caused it," Angel said. "I think he should stay put."

            "Hmm…" Spike tilted his head to the side, "lemme think. Nah. That's what your poofy ass would do. An' I didn't cause it, you wanker, I'm only over here 'cos she made it clear she doesn't want me near her tonight. 'Course, now that I think on it, I don't usually leave her alone when she tells me to, do I, Peaches?" Spike stowed the flask inside his duster, then shrugged the coat off and dropped it on a table. "You boys stay here, then. I'm gonna have me a dance."

            Spike couldn't see Lorne's approving smile as he stalked off, but he could picture the angry look on Angel's face. It gave him an approving smile of his own.

            The first haunting strains of a slow song came on just as Draco felt the tap at his shoulder. He turned to look; the sight made him jump back a foot and a half.

            "GAH … Bloody hell!" The hairy hand of a massive gorilla fell away from him, then gestured towards the dance floor. "You … you want to dance?" he said, bewildered. "You're … um, a bit tall and ape-like for me, mate. Sorry."

            The illusion shrunk before his eyes, matching his height exactly. A hairy palm took his hand, but it didn't feel hairy. It felt soft and feminine. The gorilla leaned down and whispered in his ear.

            "Dance with me."

            Draco recognized the perfume before he recognized the voice; he allowed himself to be led out. The two of them settled into a slow, weaving rhythm. Across the floor, he idly noted that Spike had taken the listless Slayer into his arms as well.

            "We're dead if we get caught, you know," Draco whispered, his mouth next to the hairy ear. He couldn't believe he was letting her do this.

            "We won't," Mel whispered back. Her chin rested on his shoulder, allowing her scent to waft straight up into his nose and tease him delightfully. "I'm dressed as a leprechaun and right now I'm in the loo. Nobody knows. I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day, with Nott and everything. It was really brave."

            "S'not much of a thank you when you're in that outfit."

            "Must you be such a pillock, Draco Malfoy?"

            "What d'you think, Norton?"

            She could feel him smirking. "I think you're a good man hiding behind an evil surname, Draco. I think I have more than every reason to hate you and you keep doing things that make me like you. And," she added, resting her lips directly on his ear, "I think I'd like to thank you for them in a more private place."

            "You can't be serious."

            "You're not interested?"

            "Of course I'm interested. That bloody scent is enough to drive me insane. But there is the small matter of my, hmm, death at the hands of the Slytherins? Remember our little conversation about Granger? The same things are true for you, Norton."

            "My name is Melissa."

            Something about the way she said it, soft and seductive and sultry all at once, made him turn his head a fraction and look into her eyes. Much later, Draco would recall that as his biggest mistake.

            Because the second he saw the desire in her blue eyes, he was completely hooked, and worse yet, he knew it.

            Buffy hung limply in Spike's arms. She hadn't said a word, not even when he came up and asked her to dance. She had just stood there like a rag doll: totally unresponsive.

            "C'mon, Slayer," Spike said, "work with me here. I'm doin' everything but hold you up."

            "Whatever," she slurred sleepily.

            He stopped dancing and took her chin in his hand. He forced her to look up into his eyes.

            "Buffy."

            No response.

            "Buffy!" He shook her jaw a little. "What's gotten into you?"

            "Stop it," she said weakly. He moved his hands to her shoulders and violently rocked her back and forth. She didn't do anything except stare at his chest. He hefted her into his arms and carried her off to the side of the hall, where he proceeded to shout angrily at her. She still didn't respond.

            "Spike, you're causing a s-scene. Let her go," Tara said, coming up on his left side with her wand drawn. Jess did the same on his right, and Willow and Grey came up behind Buffy.

            "Something's not right here." He let her go; she started to topple over, but he grabbed her shoulders again just in time to stop her descent. "Glinda? Red? You guys …"

            Tara waved her wand and said "_Deprendo veneficium_."

            A blue glow appeared around Buffy's body.

            "Damn," Jess muttered.

            "What does blue mean?" Willow asked.

            "T-tethering," Tara said. "She's tethered to something. A … a place, maybe, or an object. That's why she's been getting worse all night, because she's been away from it for too long."

            "Oh my," said Dumbledore. When he saw Tara's spell take affect, he had hastened over with Giles and McGonagall in tow. Both of the other professors eyed the glow around Buffy warily. "I believe we should get her home immediately."

            "Of course," Giles agreed. "She must be tied to Sunnydale somehow. It has to be him. He must need to keep her there."

            "Him?" Willow asked.

            "He touched her the night we got the nibblet out," Spike said, meeting Giles' eyes for the first time. "He'd need that for a spell o' this power, plus it'd take time to incubate. Saw a witch do somethin' like it back – must've been in the thirties."

            "Who?" Willow asked again.

            "Yes, indeed, and of course he would have to finish it afterwards. It must not have been complete when she came bef-"

            "WHO?!?" Willow shouted, turning heads across the room.

            Giles' stern stare backed her down. "That is not a discussion for this time or this place. We have not explained the situation in Sunnydale to you completely, Willow, nor am I about to do so now, in this dining hall, where _anyone could hear. Is that understood?"_

            Properly rebuked, Willow nodded. Grey rested a comforting hand on her shoulder and felt the first trembles of anger.

            "Tara?"

            "Yes, G-Giles?"

            "Take Buffy home, please. Hopefully the effects of the spell will abate shortly thereafter."

            "I'm goin' along," Spike said. 

            "I'll take you," Jess offered. "If there's trouble with the spell, I can back Tara up on the magic."

            "Watcher?"

            "Go. All of you. But be careful. He could be waiting on the other end. And Spike?"

            "Yeah, Rupes?"

            "You'd best fill the girls in on everything when you get there."

            "Buffy, too?"

            "No, I think not."

            Spike nodded and lifted Buffy off the ground. He cradled her like a baby as he led Jess and Tara to the nearest fireplace.

            Giles turned to Dumbledore. "I think it's time we explained things to the others, Albus. I have a nasty feeling that events are about to take on a life of their own."

            "I agree, Rupert. Angel and his companions have been briefed in already, correct?"

            "We know what we're up against," Angel confirmed.

            "Then perhaps you could stay here at the party? If we all depart at once it will arouse suspicion." Angel nodded. "Excellent. Minerva? Please find our special group and tell them to discreetly slip away and change back into their school robes. We'll meet in the library in half-an-hour. Also, I think we could use Severus' opinions as well."

            "What do you want us to do?" Grey asked.

            "I think it would be best if you did the same as the students and joined us in the library." Seeing the angry red blotches on Willow's face, Dumbledore added, "Willow, please understand, we were keeping these things from you for everyone's safety. Particularly Miss Summers."

            "I understand, but that doesn't mean I like it."

            "No, dear, I don't imagine it does. You will, however, like the truth far less."

"HALT!"

            Sir Cadogan's sword flew from its scabbard.

            "My lord is not about, and I daresay, sir, that if he were, he would not take kindly to an approach by a scoundrel such as you."

            "Incredible." Ethan leaned down to inspect the painting. "A tiny, living knight in a painting, and employed as a doorman, no less. That is terrific."

            "I say, sir, how dare you insult me in such a manner? I am hardly a doorman. I am the guardian of this realm. Why, legends and tales have been sung in my honor at the tables of the mightiest kings!" Sir Cadogan waved the sword menacingly. "I will have your tongue for this!"

            "You're sure this is that Grey guy's room?" Amy undid the drawstring on a small leather pouch.

            "This is the one. And as for you, good sir knight, the password is cinnamon."

            Cadogan shouted at the top of his lungs. He dredged up curses lost to the annals of history, nearly turning the air blue in the process, but his cries were drowned out as the door swung open. Ethan and Amy stepped through, the latter glancing around disdainfully at the toys lining the walls.

            "Oh, this is just perfect, my dear. Grab me a few extras, will you? Our new friend will need some help."

            As Amy pulled a few random figures from the shelves, Ethan lifted the squirming Grindelwald doll and laid it on the floor. He carefully laid out a pentagram with red sorcerer's sand. The doll rested in the exact center, where it could draw energy from all five points of the star.

            "I think these are all bad guys. Any ones I wasn't sure of, I left." She handed Ethan ten action figures.

            "Splendid." He laid all ten out in the center of the pentagram. Then he looked up at Amy and smiled. "Now then, my dear, shall we have a little fun?"


	40. Playthings III: Toy With Us

            The spell ended in a flash, filling the room with the stench of sulfur and blood and blinding both the sorcerer and sorceress. Before the purple spots cleared from Ethan's eyes, strong fingers tightened around his throat.

            "What place is this? Who are you to summon me from beyond the veil?"

            Ethan made a gurgling noise. Amy watched in horror as their new companion, so recently a cloth and plastic doll, now menaced her mentor. The three of them remained frozen for several seconds until the rest of the spell kicked in. Grindelwald's black eyes cleared, along with his mind, and he understood the purpose of his return.

            "Who sent you, conjuror?"

            "V-Voldemort," Ethan choked out.

            Grindelwald's dark eyes glinted. "Dear Tom. Such a special boy. I taught him well. Not well enough, it would seem, if he relies on an amateur such as yourself." He opened his hand and Ethan fell to the burnt carpet with a thunk.

            "I am hardly an amateur, my good man," Ethan rasped, rubbing his reddened neck.

            "I think we will all be better served by you simply calling me master. Now, this mission, these two girls, tell me – why does Tom wish them dead?"

            "I don't know."

            Grindelwald gave his wand a tiny shake. Ethan flinched.

            "Alright, alright, no need to get testy. Last year, Voldemort attacked Hogwarts. The two girls helped to show him the bloody door and stopped him from killing Dumbledore. He's after everyone who helped defeat him. He doesn't take embarrassment kindly."

            "No, he never did."

            "Well, he wants revenge for it. He created a vessel for the spell to bring you back and sent it here as a toy."

            "A toy?"

            "The auror whose room this is collects them. He's a bit of an odd duck. Lord Voldemort knew he would keep it here, and he hired me to perform the final pieces of the ritual. I'm something of a jack-of-all magics, you see, and he couldn't do the job himself. He needed the power of a preexisting spell to bring you back, and quite frankly the defensive spells surrounding this lovely little campus fit the bill perfectly."

            "I can see why you would be interested. I can smell the chaos on you." Grindelwald looked into the fire for a pensive moment. "So Hogwarts is without defenses?"

            "Not completely." Ethan grinned at his own cleverness. "The security spells, the ones that let Dumbledore know that security has been breached, are still in effect.

"And once we take care of the girls, then what? A stroll along the Thames, perhaps? Or do you consign me back to that half-life?"

            Ethan pulled himself to his feet. "I hadn't thought that far ahead, actually."

            Grindelwald sneered. "You needn't bother – I won't be returning. Perhaps when we're done here, I'll pay my protégé a visit. Best that I have something to offer when I do." He suddenly stopped and threw Ethan an angry glare. "Did you say … Dumbledore? Tom killed Albus?"

            "Unfortunately, no. He's quite alive. Had a nasty bout with some poison last year, but he lived through it. Tragic, that."

            Actually, Ethan didn't care a whit whether Dumbledore lived or died. He just knew it was what the reanimated wizard wanted to hear.

            "So Albus is here, then? We're at Hogwarts?"

            "He's the Headmaster."

            The smile on Grindelwald's face chilled Ethan and Amy to the core.

            "He and I have quite a bit of unfinished business." Grindelwald paused thoughtfully, remembering. "Quite a bit indeed. And these are to be my army?" He gestured towards several action figures lying inert on the red-stained floor."

            "We could get you others, if these don't suit you," Amy suggested hopefully. Her stomach was doing somersaults. She had finally realized how far in over her head she was. All she wanted was to get away from this creepy guy and do what she came here to do. She glanced at Ethan, but his face wore a genial mask of appeasement. No help there.

            "No need." Grindelwald reached down and ran the tips of his fingers over the plastic forms. "How have you arranged them?"

            "By genre," Amy answered. He raised a thick eyebrow; she moved closer and separated the figures into their appropriate groups. "The ones that belong in the same stories are grouped together. I thought you might take this one to kill the girls. They'll follow orders because they're really stupid. These three," she said, pointing to two inhuman figures and evil-looking sorceress, "I think we should just turn loose to have some fun."

            "And the last?"

            "He's with me. I'm here to get some payback on an old friend, and her boyfriend, well, he's the guy who lives here."

            "An auror, you said?" She nodded, and he understood. The demonic figure at her feet had a lightsaber in its hand.

            "Yeah. I figure if I'm up against Willow and Grey I'll need some help. She's pretty powerful, and I don't know much about him."

            Grindelwald's eyes lit up again. "Grey? Edward Grey?"

            "No," she drew the word out as she tried to remember Grey's first name, "I think someone said it was David."

            "It is indeed," Ethan agreed. "He's a former auror, I believe. Who is Edward Grey?"

            "What year is it?" Grindelwald asked, ignoring Ethan's question.

            "2004."

            "2004? I've been gone nearly sixty years. Edward is surely dead by now. Pity. I very much wanted that pleasure for myself." He glared at Ethan once more. "We will go ahead with your assistant's plan. Animate them."

            Ethan cast a baleful look at Amy. Then he knelt before the pentagram again and went to work.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny watched the episode with Buffy unfurl from across the dance floor. As Spike swung her up into his arms and followed Tara out, Professor McGonagall spun and walked straight for them.

            "You think she's okay?" Ron was unnerved by the sight of Buffy collapsing onto Spike. None of them had never seen Buffy the least bit incapacitated.

            "She's the Slayer," Hermione said tentatively. "She must have an enhanced constitution. She – she should be fine."

            "What did that blue glow mean?" Ginny asked. Ron and Harry shrugged. Hermione bit her lip, thinking the question over briefly before answering.

            "I believe it means she's ensorcelled. That would explain the bizarre collapse. I don't know offhand the particular spell," she admitted, disappointed.

            "That isn't your concern at the moment, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said. She had crossed the Great Hall in record time. "Miss Summers will be quite alright once Spike and the others return her to California. Something else has arisen, however, and Professor Dumbledore has requested that the three of you return to Gryffindor Tower and retrieve your school robes at once." She leaned in a bit closer and added softly, "We are having a very important conference in the library. Professor Dumbledore wishes that you would attend. I suggest that you hurry – we will begin shortly."

            "What's going on?" Ginny asked as McGonagall walked away.

            The three Gryffindors traded a look.

            "Nothin' for you to be concerned about, Gin," Ron said. "Sixth year stuff." He nearly took a step back when Ginny responded with a glare worthy of his mother on her angriest days.

            "Don't you lie to me, Ronald Weasley! I know you guys're up to something. I know about your disappearing every night an' I know you've been hiding it from me." She looked crossly at Harry. "Tell me what's goin' on."

            Harry shook his head. "We can't Ginny."

            "It's for your own good," Hermione added guiltily. She hated keeping things from Ginny, but they had no choice.

            "Harry Potter," she said, her cheeks coloring, "you tell me what this is all about or-or-or … or I'll dump you so fast your head'll spin. And," she added with a glance at Ron, "I'll tell mum that something's happening an' get her to find out."

            Harry closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. His scar was groaning with pain, doubtless due to whatever was happening with Buffy, and the thought of losing Ginny made him nauseous on top of that. He could feel Ron and Hermione watching him. This was his call; they would back him up if he opted to tell her, he was sure of it, but he had to make the choice. Just like always.

He wanted to tell her. She was smart and powerful, and she would be a great asset to have helping them, but the knowledge would put her at great risk. He hadn't forgotten that Voldemort had a spy in Gryffindor, or that Death Eaters felt about torture the way he felt about Quidditch.

            The thought of Ginny thrashing about under the _Cruciatus_ curse decided him.

            "Ginny," he said, placing a hand on each shoulder, "you know how much I care about you. Merlin knows that the thought of losing you makes me ill. But there are some things you can't know. Not because you aren't ready or I don't trust you. I do. With my life. This, though … some things we must keep from you, because if we don't … I couldn't bear what might happen to you."

            Ginny nodded, looking him straight in the eye as she removed her hands from his shoulders. "Then I guess you can go stuff yourself, Harry, cos we're through."

            She turned and walked away.

            Hermione placed a comforting hand on his back as she watched him blink away tears.

            "She'll come round, Harry," Ron said. "She's got a temper on her, but she'll come round. We don't …" Hermione shushed him, allowing Harry a few silent moments to gather himself.

            "Let's get this over with," Harry said shakily after a minute. The three of them wended their way across the crowded dance floor and out of the Great Hall. They didn't bother to look back.

            If they had, they might have seen Ginny stop, glance around furtively, and trail them out of the room.

            The stench of old blood assaulted Spike's nostrils the minute he stepped from the fireplace. He stopped short, blocking the exit from the fireplace and forcing Jess to shove him forward.

            "Watch it, Blondie. Tara 'n Buffy're comin' through."

            "Go back. Tell them to stop."

            "What? No. 'Sides, it's too late anyway. Why?"

            Spike scanned the room, then advanced to the window. "I can smell 'em. Cultists."

            "You can smell them? They have a special stink?"

            "Virgin's blood. Place reeks of it. It was all over their robes before."

            Tara chose that moment to pop out of the fireplace. Buffy stumbled out with her, managing to reach the couch before passing out completely.

            "I don't see any cultists, Spike. Or any anyone, for that matter," said Jess as she pulled the corner of the curtains aside.

            "C-cultists? They're here?" Tara asked.

            "The Nose over here says yeah."

            "Yer a bloody pain in the arse, you know that? Good or evil," he added.

            Her smile was equal parts sweetness and innocence. "Who, me?"

            "G-guys, seriously, where are they? I don't see anyone."

            "Perhaps if you looked harder, young lady."

            They spun around. Where there had been no one, there was now a blonde man in expensively cut clothes and a group of angry men in soiled white robes. Jess and Spike moved between the group and the other two, while Tara hastened to fashion a defensive barrier around Buffy.

            "I'm gettin' really sick of you showin' up at this house, mate."

            "This is the him?"

            "Yes master this is him master the vampire," Recks tittered next to him. The brown ball of fur hovered invisibly at his master's shoulder.

            "I am unimpressed." The blonde man turned his ice blue eyes on Jess, who had her wand out and trained on him. "Aren't you the feisty one. And so ripe with power. Who are you, girl?"

            "Your worst nightmare." Spike raised an eyebrow. "Grey usedta make me watch muggle movies."

            "Ah. Gotcha."

            Her witty banter failed to deter the blonde man. "You will answer me, witch."

            "No, yeh've got it wrong. It's bitch, y'see, with a B."

Spike barked a short laugh. The ice blue eyes shifted from her to him.

            "Hold your tongue, vampire. I will deal with you once I've taken my slayer from this place."

            "Yeah," Spike stretched the word out. "See, that's the part I don't think works for me." He morphed into game face and growled. "Get out."

            The blonde man took his turn to laugh. Then he waved distractedly to the robed men. "Kill them. Bring me my slayer And … make it hurt."

            Neville could hear Dawn's sniffling fifteen feet away. He kept to the courtyard shadows, hoping not to disturb her, but when he was nearly at her side, her thick voice broke the silence.

            "I know you're there. I've got a stake," she held it out in front of her in what she hoped was a menacing way, "and I know how to use it."

            "No need for that, Dawn," he said, stepping out of the darkness. "I don't fancy a gaping hole in the chest."

            She immediately lowered the stake, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, Neville. Sunnydale reflexes, y'know? Things that bump in the night tend to be of the bad."

            He lowered himself onto the stone bench next to her and made a point of keeping his eyes on the empty courtyard.

"Didn't mean to sneak."

            "Well, you did. Spike's got you all moving all ghosty, huh?"

            "Seems like it. I didn't really think much of it, but, yeah, I guess he does. He ever train you much?"

            "Nah. Buffy did, but not Spike. Too bad – he like's to fight dirty, and Buffy so wouldn't teach me any of that yet."

            "Shame."

            "Uh huh."

            They fell silent, and as it stretched out, Neville grew increasingly uncomfortable.

            "So … nice night for a walk, eh?"

            The corners of her mouth lifted into a half-smile. "Is this the part where you try and make me feel better?"

            "I can go, i-if you'd rather be alone."

            "No, you can totally make with the trying. I don't mind. Just don't expect results."

            He nodded, not quite sure what she wanted him to do or say. He went with the first thing that came to mind.

            "So, you fancy Fred then, do you?"

            Her eyes went spotlight-wide. Then, to his great relief, she giggled.

            "That may not have been the most tactful way to start this conversation."

            "Duh, no."

            "Let me start again." He looked away and looked back. "All right, Dawn?"

            "Actually … I kinda think you popped my sad balloon. Good job, Neville."

            Completely confused, he could only nod. She moved around a bit faster than he could follow.

            "He was kinda old for me, anyway," she said, putting on a calm expression. She didn't want Neville to feel like he had to make her feel better about a stupid crush. Ice cream with Xander later would do that.

            "If you say so."

            "Besides … Did you hear that?"

            She stopped; the sound of voices carried into the courtyard and Neville nodded. From somewhere outside of the torchlight, a high-pitched, scratchy rant was in progress.

            "… that insolent cur! I'll have his intestines on a necklace. No one orders the mighty Skeletor about!"

            "And it's good to see the mighty Skeletor prove that," a female voice snickered.

            "Do not try my patience, Evil Lyn, or I will leave you in this cursed world for the vultures to feed on."

            Dawn looked at Neville with alarm. She grabbed his arm and wordlessly pulled him down behind the bench as three figures entered the courtyard.

            "Why are they talking that way?" Neville whispered.

            "You mean like they're in an eighties cartoon?"

            "Umm…"

            "That guy with the blue skin and the purple hood? He's dressed like Skeletor, who's this bad guy in the He-Man cartoon. The chick is his sort-of girlfriend, and the other guy is muscle. I think his name is Beast-man."

            "Cartoon?"

            "Muggle kids watch them on tv, and I grew up with Xander. They're shows made with drawings instead of actors. How can you hang out with Grey and not know this? He's got toys from all the great cartoons …" Her voice trailed off as she saw Beast-man sniffing the air. "Oh damn."

            "Lord Skeletor, someone is here."

            "Bring them to me," said Skeletor haughtily, planting the Havok staff in the dirt.

            Dawn reached down and re-drew her emergency stake from beneath her dress. Neville reached back and tried to pull his axe from its holster, but he slipped and it dropped, the blade clanging noisily against the bench.

            Before he could recover it, two massive, hairy paws reached over the top and yanked them to their feet.

            "Hey! Quit it!" Dawn jammed the stake into Beast-man's arm; the giant creature howled and hurled them across the courtyard. They crashed down in front of Skeletor with all the grace of potato sacks.

            Beast-man charged across the grass, intent on tearing their heads from their bodies. Skeletor raised his staff and halted the minion in mid-stride.

            "Not just yet, Beast-man."

            Neville and Dawn were just conscious enough to hear him roar with frustration.

            "Now then, children, how long I hold him back is contingent on how much you tell me. What is this castle's source of power?"

            Dawn glanced at Neville and shrugged, as if to say "This one's all you."

            Neville gulped loudly. "S-source of power? What do you mean?"

            "Don't lie to me, you misbegotten fool. I can feel the power here. If I can absorb it, I will have more than enough to return home and conquer Castle Grayskull and that interloper He-Man. Tell me – what is its source?"

            "Dawn?"

            Her voice came out in a hiss. "He thinks he's really Skeletor!" She looked at the skeletal face visible beneath the hood. "And he got the skeletony face to go with it?  I think you have a fan boy prob-"

            A yellow blast from the eyes of his staff cut her off abruptly. She flipped over backwards and slammed to the turf. Neville didn't dare move to see if she was okay. His wand was still in the Gryffindor common room, and he didn't like his chances of going hand-to-hand with this crew.

            "I WILL HAVE THE SOURCE OF POWER OF THIS PLACE!" Skeletor screamed, firing a bolt of yellow energy at the sky.

            A low growl turned him around.

            "Or you'll have an aneurysm, buddy. I mean, sure, He-Man's a classic cartoon, but it's only a television show." Angel's ridges stuck out prominently in the shadowed courtyard. Gunn and Wesley had swords raised, while Cordelia's crossbow rested on her arm. "This is a bit much, don't you think?"

            "Who dares?"

            "Are we living a cliché or what?" Gunn said. Wesley nodded.

            "Why is it that the closest I ever get to being on tv is hitting people who are supposed to be on it?" Cordy asked rhetorically.

            "Beast-man! Evil Lyn! Kill them!" Skeletor screeched.

            "Here we go," Angel said, charging to meet them.

            "Please calm down."

            Every torch in the hallway flared as Willow turned her glare on Grey.

            "Also, there's no need for the look of death."

            "He lied to me! Giles lied to me!"

            The torches continued to rage, lighting the hallway up like day.

            "I think he just kept things from you, but I'm not defending him. I'm worried about you being angry and starting a bonfire right near my room."

            "Don't you quip with me, mister. Not now. My best friend is in serious danger and …"

            "And you're being protective Willow, but you can't protect her so you're being angry Willow at Giles instead. I get it."

            She poked him hard in the chest. "Don't downplay it like that, either. I have concerns here, legitimate concerns that he's gonna have to address."

            He grasped her wrists and pulled her tight to his chest, then spoke slowly and deliberately.

            "Yes. And he will. But now you need to settle down. You're scaring me. Look at the flames."

            Her rant rolled on as she yanked her arms away. "I don't care about the stupid flames. Oh no, they're extra flamey. Big whoop. Why don't you get this? Do you know how much danger Buffy's in? No, you don't, that's how much. You have no idea. Me either. I know it's big because Spike was all in Big Bad protective mode, but that's like … I don't even know, it's like something. And also …" She stopped suddenly, realizing she was alone. "Grey?"

            "Are you finished?" She had rarely heard him angry, and almost never with her, but he was practically snarling from the other end of the hallway.

            "You're all the way, you know, away."

            "Not much choice, really. Check out the wall."

            Scorched spots of black soot were burned into the unlit wall at regular intervals. The flames had retreated back into their torchieres for the moment, but it was clear what had happened.

            "I know you're upset about Buffy, Will. I'm upset too. Giles must have had a good reason for keeping it tight. Right now, though, I don't give a shit about that. You have to calm down, because your power is leaking out, and pretty soon it'll be a flood."

            She looked up and down the length of the hall.

            "I burned the wall."

            "Really? I hadn't noticed. I was too busy dodging columns of flame."

            He felt the tension drop a notch. She took a deep breath.

            "I burned the wall."

            "It'll clean. We'll ask Harry to have Dobby do it fast. No one'll know. Now come on. We'll change and go learn about the new Big Bad."

            Grey held out his hand, which she stomped down the hallway and took. The anger still smoldered behind her green eyes, but he figured this was as calm as he could hope for at the moment.

            They walked the rest of the way in silence, though he drew a small sigh from her by rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. When they reached his room, the door was wide open.

            "What the hell – Cadogan?" Grey called. "Why is the door open?"

            No one answered. He swung the door back and looked at Sir Cadogan's painting. The forest was empty. Willow brushed past him and entered the room.

            "This is not good."

            "Grey…" Panic wavered at the edge of her voice.

            "What?"

            He looked into the room, where the red pentagram and bloodstains had mixed together with strewn wreckage that had once been his possessions. The room reeked of sulphur and, in Willow's nose, black magic.

            "Son of a bitch." Grey's voice came out whisper quiet.

            "Somebody did a powerful spell. I can feel it. And it's not of the nice variety."

            Stunned, he meandered in and ran his hands over some of the burnt shelves. Nearly all of his toys had melted into blobs. Bits and pieces of charred paper sat in small piles, the minimal remnants of his book collection. The stench of ash and burnt plastic hung over the room like a shroud.

            "They burnt up all my stuff."

            She walked over and wrapped a comforting arm around his waist. "It'll be okay. We'll clean it up."

            "They burnt up all my stuff."

            "Not they, big man. We. And it was pretty fun." Amy leaned against the wall just outside the door, her blackened hair a stark contrast to her nearly translucent skin. Willow's eyes locked on her, and her nostrils flared. She released her lover's waist and took a step to the right.

Grey's attention was focused on the figure to Amy's left. The red blades of the creature's lightsaber shone fiercely in the dim hallway.

            "Jedi…" it hissed. Tiny horns crowned the red and black head skin drawn taut across its skull.

            "That's …" Grey couldn't even form words.

            "Darth Maul. I know. The things you can do with magic." Amy shrugged. "Neat, huh?"

            "You did this? Who are you? How the hell did he get here?"

            Amy opened her mouth to answer, but she never had a chance. A gale force wind filled the hallway, blowing Amy off her feet and halfway down the corridor.

            Grey looked at his lover. Her eyes were black as midnight.

            "Her name is Amy," Willow rasped, "and she is so about to bleed."


	41. Playthings IV: A Fun Time Was Had By All

            The blue-uniformed figures were eerily silent as they marched in perfect formation behind Grindelwald and their newly-animated leader. From the rear of the procession, Ethan was amazed that one animated figure could make enough noise for all of them.

            "You will release us at once! I, Cobra Commander, demand that you listen to me! I…"

            Ethan nearly cheered as Grindelwald slammed the blue-hooded buffoon to the wall with a sinewy arm.

            "You will listen to me, you simpering moron: I am your commander. You command bugger-all right now, and if you continue to annoy me, I will turn you back into the toy you so recently were and rend your plastic limbs from the elastic bands that join them. Is that clear?"

            "No one speaks to Cobra Commander in such a tone. Guards! Seize … urk …"

            None of the Cobra guardsmen moved an inch. Grindelwald, fed up with the prattling of this infant, drew his wand with his free hand. With a swish and flick, the spell animating Cobra Commander ended. All that was left was a tiny action figure in the palm of his hand. As promised, Grindelwald proceeded to rip off the figure's arms and legs, then drop it on the stone floor and crush the torso with his boot.

            "Your assistant has terrible taste in henchmen," Grindelwald said to Ethan.

            "Yes, I've been meaning to speak to her about that. It's just that she's so young, you see. She hasn't the proper experience."

            "Indeed. Well, I think that this time we shan't have a problem, but should it happen again, neither of you will remain in my employ any longer." Grindelwald's voice wasn't angry, but rather completely dismissive as he discussed killing off both Amy and Ethan.

            Now it was Ethan's turn to realize he was in over his head. This plan, dangerous from the beginning, was rapidly turning into a sentence of lifelong servitude, and Ethan had no interest in that at all. It was time to cut his losses, Voldemort's wrath be damned. He could find protection from the Dark Lord later on.

            The procession continued, but as Grindelwald took a branching path to the left with his soldiers close on his heels, Ethan Rayne just kept walking. He had been to Hogwarts before, and he had a good idea of where to find the man he wanted.

            "Rupert, old man," he muttered aloud to the empty corridor, "I just hope you still have the appreciation for books that you had in California."

            "STUPEFY!"

            The spell caught the lead cultist in square in the crotch, driving him into the back wall of the Summers living room. He slumped to the floor, moaning pathetically. Jess allowed herself a gleeful smile before taking aim at another one.

            Next to her, Tara took two giant steps backwards. Her magic rose effortlessly, and soon a shimmering barrier stood between the cultists and her and Buffy. Two of the remaining four robed men rushed heedlessly into it and received a nasty electric shock and a flight across the room for their efforts. They were clearly no match for two trained witches, and the last remaining cultist hung back warily, waiting for a command from his master.

            "So what's your name, pretty-boy?" Spike asked as he circled the blonde man warily. He had some idea of what the man was, thanks to Giles, but he had no clue what this renegade angel might be capable of.

            The angel smiled coldly, allowing Spike to dance around the living room while his cultists vainly tried to reengage the witches.

            "Do not presume that we are at the stage where you are allowed to call me by name … Spike, isn't it? The vampire who fancies himself in love with my Slayer?"

            "One of 'em. The other ain't too impressive, though. You'd better stick with the first team, mate."

            Spike suddenly lunged for the angel, his vampiric speed offering almost no warning for a normal man.

            Unfortunately, he wasn't fighting a normal man.

            The angel vanished with a muted pop, reappearing behind Spike in time to see him careen across the floor and slam headlong into Tara's barrier spell. Like an errant pool ball, Spike caromed off the magical wall and into a wooden chest next to the fireplace. He lay unmoving, slumped against the box.

            "Oh, well done, 'mate,'" the angel mocked. "Absolutely 'bloody' perfect."

            "Your English accent's horrible, pal," Jess said. With a waved of her wand, ghostly chains gagged and bound the cultists. Once they were restrained, the tip of her wand shifted to the angel's throat. "Take it from a wee Irish lass: yeh've got no future pretendin' to be a Brit. Now, I think you should think about doin' a runner, before I get more brassed off than I already am, don't you know?"

            His perfect features twisted into a sharp smile.

            "You're the one from that first night, aren't you? The one who threw the beer at her friend. A clever bit of magic, young lady. You have quite the talent, I'd wager."

            "So?"

            "So you should start thinking about how you might fight an adversary who is unaffected by magic … don't you know." The last phrase slipped out in a mock Irish accent. Jess' nostrils flared with anger. Before she could act, he pointed at her and made a flicking motion with his index finger.

            The spell was soundless. All Tara heard was the tinkling of glass as the magic propelled Jess out the picture window and into the front yard.

            "Jess!" Tara's eyes turned white with fury. The angel turned his smile on her and strode boldly up to her barrier.

            "You think you can do better, witch?" He touched the shimmering barrier with a pale hand, then began to press on it. "This will hardly hold me."

In her mind, Tara could feel the physical force of him pushing against the barrier. She knew it wouldn't hold long, and, glancing at Spike's still form in the corner, she realized that it had to. She was the only thing standing between this renegade angel and Buffy. If she gave in, it would mean the end of her friend, and with her, most likely, the world as well.

            "No pressure," she whispered, feeling his hand press a little harder.

            "You can take her? Without ending the world or anything?"

Willow nodded, her black eyes watching Amy tumble down the hallway. She reached up and touched the necklace he had given her for Christmas. "I'm good to go."

Grey clearly didn't like it, but they had no choice. "Don't come apart on me."

            She nodded, not really listening. Amy had no idea the whooping that Willow was about to hand down. "Can you handle the clown with the horns?"

            "If I can get past the ridiculousness of fighting a fictional action figure."

            She looked over, deliberately meeting his eyes. "Whatever that thing was, it reeks of dark energy and badness now. Don't underestimate it. I don't really want to bury you tonight."

            "Gee, that's sweet. Go. I've got this."

            She nodded once and muttered something. Grey saw a blur, and suddenly she was looming over Amy at the far end of the hall. He stepped through the door and began to circle the Sith Lord slowly. He couldn't know how much skill the animated toy had, but he feared the worst. Darth Maul twirled the double-bladed lightsaber slowly in front of him, grinning insanely as the former auror moved along the hall.

            "Jedi…" the Sith hissed. In Grey's head, Buffy's voice screamed _BLOCK THE CENTER_ just as the red energy blade flashed up at him. With a snap-hiss his blue blade erupted from the lightsaber handle, halting the Sith blade in mid-swing. The other red blade sliced up from below; another quick move blocked that one as well.

            The two combatants took wary steps backward and returned to circling each other. _I'm no Obi-wan_, Grey thought fleetingly as Darth Maul tested him with another series of quick strikes. His lightsaber felt like an extension of his arm as the red and blue blades clashed in the dim hallway. The Sith intercepted his lunges with precision. He never let an opportunity pass to slice in on Grey, twice nearly cleaving the auror in two. The toy fought expertly, as if he, and not his film counterpart, had trained an entire lifetime to battle Jedi.

As natural as the lightsaber felt, Grey had never really fought with it before. Not like this. And his inexperience wasn't doing him any favors. The hallway thundered with blue-on-red impacts. Only Buffy's voice in Grey's head kept him alive after the first few seconds. The power of the enchantment, so shocking and frightening when he had seen it cast, was now all that stood between Grey and certain death, and he embraced it. If he had been wielding his old lightsaber, Grey knew that he would already be dead.

            They danced around one another for a long minute, the Sith using the two ends of the blade to strike Grey from the left and the right so rapidly that it seemed to be simultaneous.

"He's pushing you into the wall," Buffy's voice told him. Her advice came half in the form of words, half in impulses and instinct. She had a distinctive fighting style that came through in the blade's voice. Grey could feel it meshing with his own, and he idly hoped he would get a chance to spar with her to see what the real version had.

Before Grey could get his bearings, he could feel the brick wall pressing in behind his right shoulder. The Darth Maul toy took advantage and slashed down on him from above. Grey knew he had nowhere left to spin. He flashed back to the fight with the Hunters in Diagon Alley, but didn't risk a glance at Willow; she couldn't save him now. His blue blade buzzed past his nose, stopping the red blade mid-slash. Instead of calling out to her, he dropped to his knees. The second blade passed close enough to his head that he felt the heat, but he escaped unscathed. Pushing off of the wall with his free hand, Grey tucked and rolled past the Sith and came up in a crouch just in time to intercept another strike.

Then the strangest thing happened: Darth Maul backed off.

            "Had enough already? Pretty weak," Grey commented, rising to his feet.

            Before he could even think to move, something heavy and metal hit him in the back.

            "What the …" He staggered as something else hit him. Then a third something caught his shoulder as he was turning. A metal gauntlet rattled to the floor next to him, and he brought his lightsaber up in time to deflect another. Behind it, bits of armor from the suit in the hallway sped through the air like shrapnel. Grey blocked several other pieces before a boot connected solidly with the base of his spine and he went down, his lightsaber skittering away down the hall.

            At the other end of the hallway, Willow could feel the dark magic surfacing with her anger. She rose into the air, hovering a few feet above Amy and glaring down at her former friend.

            "Why do this, Amy? What's your problem with Hogwarts?"

            Amy, still on her back, leaned over and spat blood onto the hall floor.

            "So much for not doing magic, huh, Willow?"

            "Newsflash – back on the magic for awhile. Now answer me – why are you here at Hogwarts starting a ruckus?"

            "Because my problem isn't with Hogwarts, you dumb junkie. My problem is you. But looking like this – the magic looks good on you." Amy floated herself into a standing position facing Willow. "How does it look on me?"

            "Kinda veiny. Not so much good." Amy narrowed her eyes. "You're in for a serious butt-kicking after doing that to my boyfriend's room, you know." Willow's tone was matter of fact, even while her voice dripped with contempt. Willow made a downward motion with her index finger. "Sit."

            Unseen magical force dropped Amy back to the floor before she could react.

            "You didn't really think you'd get all wiggy black magic woman and have enough power to mess with me, did you?" Willow asked. She was hanging on to her control by a thread. If Amy started tossing spells at her, she didn't know how long she could keep it up. "I mean, hello to the bad idea."

            "It's always about you, isn't it? Little Miss Powerful," Amy growled. "I'm so sick of you. You think you're so much better than me." She lifted herself back up off the ground.

            "Sit," Willow said again.

            "No," Amy said, waving the spell off.

            "I said sit, bitch!" Willow shouted. She jammed her hand downward and sent Amy sprawling across the stone. "Didja ever think maybe the reason I think I'm better than you is because maybe I am?"

            "You wish." Amy reached up and wiped blood from her nostril. Her black eyes flashed with anger. "It's always been so easy for you, hasn't it, Willow? Everyone else working twice as hard to be half as good. Everybody so ready to forgive you when you go off the deep end." Amy's hand came up and she said, "_Burn_."

            A stream of blue flame shot from her fingers; Willow whispered a word and leaned to the side. The flame passed by her with a rush of heat on her skin. Behind her, part of the charred brick melted and dripped to the floor.

            "Yeah, right," Willow said, raising an eyebrow. "That's what this is about? You're jealous? You should be, if that's all you got." Mentally, Willow clawed at the last of her control, desperate to hang on. She touched the charm at her neck. The wood was white hot. "Let me tell you something here, Amy – I might be twice as powerful, but that's not what makes me better than you. That isn't what makes people help me when I turn into a junky. Quiet," Willow added angrily as Amy's lifted hand came up again. The fallen witch opened her mouth, but nothing came out when she tried to incant. "I might have twice as much power, but look what I do with it. You and your stupid crap – why don't you get off your duff and help somebody once in awhile? Then maybe they'd help you a little and you wouldn't be so damn worthless."

            Amy's hand went to her throat, but the silencing spell wouldn't allow her to answer. Willow clenched her hand into a fist, and suddenly Amy could not move either. Far too late, she realized exactly how much more powerful Willow was, and seeing the girl's black eyes, Amy figured she was about to die for her mistake.

            "You know what I think, Amy?" Willow smiled, and the black in her eyes spread to her hair. Amy was trying vainly to free herself mentally, but Willow had more than enough power to keep her silent and immobile. "I think you need a lesson. Let's call it 'Why messing with witches more powerful than me makes me a doofus.'"

            A flick of Willow's wrist sent Amy flying across the hall and into the wall. She hung there, pinned spread-eagle and helpless three feet off the ground. Willow chuckled evilly.

            "Now, before I get even more testy, I want you to call off your hound. Then we'll talk about what to do next."

            "What d'you think's goin' on?"

            Harry, a bit more composed after the short walk, shrugged. "I dunno, Ron. We'll find out soon enough, though." They were two hallways from Gryffindor tower, and they were getting antsy.

            "I … know a little about what's going on," Hermione offered, feeling suddenly guilty that she hadn't said anything before.. "It's not altogether pleasant."

            "Hang on – you know what's going on and you didn't tell us?" Ron stopped walking and focused his wide-eyed stare on his girlfriend.

            "Professor Giles swore me to secrecy, Ron. I had no choice."

            "No choice?  No choice? 'Mione, dammit …"

            "Ron, please don't swear."

            "He's got a point, Hermione," Harry said, his own temper rising a notch. "We're trying to get ready for whatever's coming, and you know what it is and don't tell us?"

            "No, no, no. It isn't like that. This isn't about us, only about Spike and the Slayer." She looked abashed, especially after what had just happened with Ginny.

            Down the hall, Ginny eavesdropped shamelessly. _Spike and Buffy?__ What do they have to do with Voldemort_, she wondered. Ginny wasn't dull – she quickly realized that what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been hiding was intimately involved with Voldemort somehow. That accounted for the fear in Harry's eyes down in the Great Hall. She felt her anger soften a little. He really was protecting her. It was one of the sweetest things about Harry. _He needs ta realize I can take care of me perfectly well, though_, she thought.

            "Maybe we should be the judges of whether it's about us or not," Harry spat, his anger about Ginny working its way into his voice. "It's about Voldemort, isn't it?"

            "Only tangentially," Hermione said, resigned. She could feel his anger and knew it wasn't really about her. "Listen we must hurry along to this meeting. Let's … let's just change and I'll tell you what I know on the way. Is that acceptable?"

            Harry and Ron looked at each other, neither pleased with the knowledge that Hermione had been keeping secrets.

            "Fine," Ron said, "but after … after we need to sort out some rules about tellin' each other things. This is gettin' ridiculous."

            Hermione nodded, chagrined, and they resumed their walk. In minutes, they were at the portrait of the Fat Lady, with Ginny trailing out of sight behind.

            "Swizzle stick," Harry said.

            Nothing happened.

            "Swizzle stick."

            Nothing happened. Again.

            "Did they change the password?" Hermione asked cautiously.

            "Uh uh." Ron took a closer look at the painting of the Fat Lady. She wasn't moving a bit. "Check out the Fat Lady," he whispered urgently. "She's gone still. Like a muggle painting."

The three Gryffindors exchanged alarmed looks.

            "Wands out?"

            "Wands out," Harry agreed. Ginny saw them draw wands and brought her own up from her sleeve. "I'll go first, then Ron, then Hermione. If something's off in there, go to the library for help."

            "No way, Harry. I –"

            He cut off her protest with a raised hand. "No arguments. You'll do as I say."

            Her bright eyes flashed angrily but she nodded.

            "Good. Ron – go left. I'll go right. Hermione, you cover whichever of us is in more danger when you come through the door. Got it?"

            They both nodded. Harry raised his wand in his right hand and with his left gingerly reached for the picture frame. When he touched the ancient wood, the door came free of the wall without protest. He inched it out a bit and waved the others to move left. When they were clear of the line of fire, Harry yanked the door fully open and dove through the opening.

            He finished his dive with an awkward tumble; the graceless move left him crouching behind one of the squashy armchairs. He heard an unfamiliar sound, something between a buzz and a squeak. A burst of red light burned its way through the chair and past his leg. When he looked left, the wall near the door had a black mark the size of a Galleon burned into it.

            "Ron! Stay back!" Harry yelled back through the door. A series of the strange noises erupted from the room again, and a group of red flashes whizzed through the open door.

            "Bloody hell!" came the shout from the hallway.

            "Remember boys: stun. Not kill," said an oily voice inside the room. "It's no use hiding down there, Mister Potter. We can shoot through the chair all day, and I don't think your friends will be coming through that doorway for a bit. Why don't you stand up and face me man-to-man?"

            Harry reached around the side of the chair and blindly fired off two quick stunners in response. _You could hardly run out of ammunition_, he recalled Giles saying during one of their lessons. _You might as well simply fire away and hope to distract them if you have no other options._

            The oily voice became an oily chuckle. "Hoping to get lucky, Potter? I don't think that will save you from me. Now cease this foolish resistance and surrender yourself before I decide to make this less pleasant for you."

            In the hallway, Ginny came rushing up to help Hermione forcibly restrain Ron from diving through the door.

            "Ron!" Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. "You mustn't go through that door! Those red bolts'll cut you down in seconds."

            "Listen to her, Ron. We need to get help," Ginny insisted.

            He yanked his arms as hard as he could, pulling himself free from both girls with a powerful shrug. He leveled a menacing glare at them, his anger overpowering his good sense. "What're you doin' here?" he asked Ginny.

            "You knew I wouldn't let it go at that, Ron – not when Harry's involved."

            He nodded. They could deal with that later. He turned back to the door, and the girls grabbed him again, only to meet another angry brush off. "I'm goin' in to help him!"

            "You need cover," Hermione said quietly, giving in. They could hear the sizzle of those beams from the hall. "What about the Flashbang spell?"

            "The what?" Ginny asked.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "I still can't do it right."

            "What is it?"

            "Not now, Gin!" They locked eyes, identical glares shooting back and forth between them. Inside the common room, they heard another group of blasts, which prompted Hermione to step between them.

            "I'll do it, and we'll both go in." He started to protest, but she wouldn't let him. "We'll. Both. Go. In."

            "Fine. You cast and we'll go. But Gin, you go for help, understand?"

            "This isn't the time, but later you're gonna tell me where you learned a Flashbang spell an' what it is, or I swear that I will make your life miserable, Ron Weasley."

            Ron nodded. "Just go to the library and get help soon's we clear the door." He glanced at Hermione. She had her wand out and ready to go. "Let's do this."

            Inside the room, Harry had his hands full staying behind cover and out of the way of the red blasts. He still had no idea what they were, and he was calculating the odds of escaping unharmed through the door when he heard Hermione cast the spell.

A smoky amber ball shot through the doorway; seeing it, he hurriedly ducked down and covered his eyes. The spell had come from Jess O'Brien, straight out of the auror handbook, and he knew what it could do to the unprepared. When it reached its maximum ten foot range, it exploded into a ball of writhing smoke. The room vibrated from the accompanying thunderclap, and the stored energy flashed with the brightness of ten lightning bolts., Harry could feel it behind his eyelids thanked Merlin that he had remembered to cover his eyes.

With the thunder still ringing in his ears, he heard two voices scream, then a third, then several of the strange buzzing sounds in rapid succession and finally nothing but silence. The air tasted like stale smoke. He made a hasty choice and hopped to his feet, exposing his upper body above the squashy armchair.

            "Your friends are quite talented," Grindelwald said. Despite the evil sneer he gave Harry, he seemed genuinely impressed. "Nothing I couldn't handle, of course, but my worthless henchmen seem the worse for the wear." Four blue-clad solders lay in a heap next to him. "Still and all, I'm glad to see Dumbledore is actually teaching you lot something. The place really had lost its touch for the last hundred years or so after I left."

            Harry glanced at the doorway. Ron and Hermione lay unconscious just inside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. In the hallway beyond, a tiny figure with a mass of red hair looked to be sleeping facedown. Rage boiled up inside Harry's chest as he recognized Ginny.

            "STUPEFY!" Harry's angry spell sped straight for Grindelwald's chest. The dark wizard caught it on the palm of his right hand and chuckled. None of Harry's next three spells reached him either, and in desperation Harry snatched up a candelabra and hurled it at him. The metal dropped to the ground well short of the dark wizard.

            "Not quite, young Harry. Quite the effort, but then you're quite outclassed. It took Dumbledore and a half-dozen aurors to get me before. I do not believe that you are quite up to the challenge."

            Seething now, and knowing that he was the only thing standing between his unconscious friends and death, Harry stepped out from behind the chair and assumed dueling position. If he could delay long enough, maybe help would arrive. Willow or Dumbledore would make quick work of this bastard, whoever he was. Harry gripped his wand tighter, hoping to hide the nervous shake of his hand.

            "I guess we'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

            Grindelwald smiled. He quite relished facing do-gooders with more courage than brains.

            "I wonder what's keeping everyone," Dumbledore said. He and Giles had been waiting for nearly 30 minutes in the library, and while he had a vaguely unsettled feeling that he couldn't quite place, he was unable to imagine where the rest of their group might be.

            Giles leaned over and poured Dumbledore a refill of his tea before refilling his own cup.

            "Perhaps extricating themselves from the party was not quite as easy for the children as we had hoped. And I know that Willow was quite upset after our revelations about Buffy – I imagine Grey is attempting to calm her down right now."

            "Hmm. Perhaps." Dumbledore sipped the tea and leaned back with steepled fingers. The unsettled feeling wouldn't go away.

            "Albus, I've been meaning to ask you – do you think it wise to include Harry and Ron in these discussions?"

            "You don't think it is?"

            Giles paused, idly tapping the tea cup with his index finger for a few seconds before speaking. "I'm not certain. Hermione has been invaluable, but it is a heavy burden to bear."

            "Not, I assure you, Rupert, the heaviest burden that they will bear in the days ahead. I believe I have divined the answer to Spike's question, and it is forcing me to consider letting quite a bit of truth out into the light that I would rather stay hidden."

            Giles raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. The wizard's blue eyes were decidedly un-twinkley at the moment, he realized. "What does that mean, exactly?"

            Dumbledore shook his head. "I can't tell you that. Not until I've spoken with Harry. I'm afraid that the past is about to weigh quite heavily on the future."

            The door to the library swung open and Ethan Rayne stepped across the threshold.

            "You don't know the half of it, old man."


	42. Playthings V: Playtime's Over

            Harry cringed as Grindelwald's wand swished and flicked again.

            "_Crucio_."

            Hermione, already too hoarse to scream anymore, had to settle for expressing her anguish through rapid, grating breaths. On the floor next to Harry, sweat rolled down Ron's immobile red face as his eyes watched the dark wizard torture his girlfriend.

            Ten seconds of dueling was all Grindelwald had needed to immobilize Harry. Then another minute to arrange his victims, and he had begun to alternate between Hermione and Ginny. When one of them seemed about to pass out, Grindelwald would switch to the other, the whole time chuckling quietly and acting like he hadn't had so much fun in years..

            Rage burned behind Harry's eyes. Not that he could move or do anything about it.

            Grindelwald watched him watch Hermione writhe. "Something you'd like to say to me, Harry?" With a flick of the wand, he freed Harry's mouth.

            "I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD! I'M GONNA RIP YOUR GODDAMN LUNGS OUT AND TEAR OFF YOUR BLOODY ARMS! I'LL…" Another flick cut him off.

            "Yes, well, that sounds quite unpleasant. You'll forgive me if I skip that portion of the story? Excellent," he said when Harry couldn't answer. "Now, you must understand that this isn't anything personal, young man. In fact, I'm only supposed to kill the girls and be off, but that … that doesn't really appeal, you know? Why kill two when you could take another few minutes and kill four? No, I think it would be best if when I showed up at Tom's castle I had something more than that to show for his little resurrection gambit. So I suppose I'll kill all of you, though I don't know what his particular problem is with you." Grindelwald smiled. "The torture, well, that I just missed. It's delightful fun, isn't it?"

            "Ethan Rayne!" Giles surged to his feet, his stomach turning over with sudden anxiety. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

            "Now, now, Ripper old mate. I'm here on the side of the angels this time," Ethan said with a calming gesture."

            Giles frowned, thinking that in their current predicament that gave no indication of what side he was on, though Ethan could not have known that. Could he?

            Giles strode forward and grabbed Ethan by the collar of his maroon silk shirt, slamming his former friends into the stone wall.

            "Be careful, Ripper. That's an expensive …" Another hard jerk into the wall shut Ethan up.

            "Tell us why you're here." Giles' voice sounded like metal grating on stone.

            "Rupert, would you care to explain?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

            "This is Ethan Rayne, Albus. And he's not here for anything but trouble. Something's going on."

            Dumbledore squinted, examining Ethan's aura. "Chaos. A worshipper, perhaps? "

            "And quite a good one, if I do say so. It's a pleasure, Professor," Ethan said, his voice slightly muffled by Giles' pressure on his chest.

            "Answer me," Giles growled. He hit Ethan hard in the jaw with his elbow. Dumbledore watched, the unsettled feeling in his gut mushrooming into full-blown concern.

            "Now, now Ripper." Ethan spat a tooth out onto the carpet, accompanied by a glob of spit and blood. "In good time. First you guarantee my safety and free passage off of the grounds, and then I'll tell you everything you need to know."

Giles heaved Ethan into the side of one of the book stacks. The conjuror laughed as he slumped to the floor.

"How long have we known each other, Rupert? You always persist in beating me for information you could have for a tiny price. Look at the last time we got together – I know you had a jolly time drinking with me. Why can't we converse like the civilized blokes we are?"

            Giles grabbed Ethan by the hair, yanking his face up to deliver a powerful kick to the jaw.

            "As I recall, the last time we got together you poisoned me and transformed into a Fyarl demon."

            "Well, yes, I suppose that was less pleasant for you. You, however, sent me to the penitentiary with some very unpleasant Americans, so I think the tab's been quite paid on that encounter, don't you? Can't we let bygones be bygones?"

Giles kicked him again; Ethan's forehead split open and began to bleed.

            "Tell us, Ethan, before I get a bit more upset than you could bloody well stand. What are you doing here?"

            "Enough of this." Dumbledore stood from behind the library table and drew his wand. Both Ethan and Giles could feel his rising fury, and Ethan suddenly understood why Voldemort was frightened of Dumbledore. "_Verisio_."

Ethan's eyes went wide as the magic washed over him.

"Now, Mister Rayne, tell us everything we need to know."

            The spell forced Ethan to start speaking, and when he was done, Dumbledore could barely contain himself.

            "All of the school's defenses are weakened or inactive, you say? And Grindelwald is here, now, in the Gryffindor common room?" Ethan nodded. "Stay with him, Rupert."

            There was a soft pop, and Dumbledore vanished.

            Cordy let fly with the crossbow bolt, hoping to knock Evil-Lyn's staff from her hand before she could think to use it. The bolt sailed across the courtyard and halted in mid-air. The staff was still two feet away, comfortably ensconced in her evil hand.

            "Damn," Cordy muttered, hurrying to reload the crossbow.

            "Foolish wench. Missile weapons cannot harm me. Can you say the same?" Evil-Lyn pointed her staff at Cordy, and the bolt spun in mid-air and took off. Angel reached up and snatched it out of the air inches from her chest.

            "That wasn't very nice," he said, breaking the bolt in half. Pieces of wood and metal fluttered to the ground. "I've known a few wenches in my day, and I've got to tell you, Cordelia Chase is no wench."

            "Now he complements me," Cordy said, still trying to load the second bolt. Wesley and Gunn came up beside them, and with Angel they advanced on the evil trio. Their broadswords gleamed wickedly in the moonlight.

            "Let's show 'em how we do things downtown," Gunn said.

            The three of them charged. Gunn's sword whipped down at Skeletor, who wrenched the Havok Staff from the ground and blocked the strike. Staff and sword clanged loudly as the two exchanged thwarted blows with one another. Next to them, Evil-Lyn trained her staff on Angel and Wesley. The two men stopped mid-stride, not wanting to give up a chance to dodge her incoming spell.

            Neville saved them the trouble.

            From his spot on the ground, the young Gryffindor swept her legs out from under her, sending her magical staff flying and dumping the sorceress unceremoniously to the dirt. He finished the move just in time to see Beast-Man above him. Razor-sharp claws gleamed in the moonlight. Neville gulped audibly as he reared back and ripped down.

            Angel didn't let the blow connect; his flying tackle knocked the bear-sized creature from its feet. The two of them rolled across the ground as he sought to put some space between the creature and Neville and Dawn. Wesley, meanwhile, put his boot to Evil-Lyn's throat, pinning her down away from her staff.

            "Not so fast, young lady," he said in his quietly fierce British voice. "I think we've had about enough of that, don't you?" She started to reach for the dagger concealed in her boot, but he pushed on her throat and she froze.

            Beast-Man and Angel slapped short punches at one another, each trying to gain the advantage from a position without leverage. The creature had more raw power than the souled vampire, and Angel immediately wished he hadn't let it in so close. His speed advantage was totally negated as they tussled horizontally. Only the creature's mindless ferocity kept it from rending him limb from limb. Grabbing a furry shoulder in each hand, he held it as still as he could and unleashed a wicked head-butt to its hairy face. Beast-Man howled in pain, dropping Angel in favor of covering its injured face with massive paws.

            "Liverpool kiss," Angel rasped as he crawled away. "Spike thinks he invented it, but we know who the master is around here, don't we, Rover?" The creature howled in response.

            Off to the side, Skeletor brought the Havok Staff down on Gunn's wrist with a vicious chop. The street fighter cried out in pain, his sword falling from his injured hand. The purple goat head on top of the staff whipped around, catching him in the cheek and knocking him sprawling.

            "How dare you assault the mighty Skeletor? I will flay the skin from your bones! You worthless wretch! I will cut your still-beating heart form your chest and dine on your warm blood! I will …"

            The twang of uncoiling wire and the crack of the bolt punching through Skeletor's bony forehead cut the tirade off mid-sentence.

            "You will find some plaster to plug that leak? Like I was only gonna fire one shot. Duh," Cordy said. She rolled her eyes dismissively as the muscular blue body sank to the courtyard. "Any luck finding that source of power yet, buddy?"

            "My Lord!" Evil-Lyn shrieked, watching helplessly as Skeletor's body shrank and reverted to its plastic form, albeit with a tiny crossbow bolt now stuck in its forehead.

            Wesley stomped downwards, and in seconds he was standing on a headless plastic figure.

            Beast-man roared with anger, his animal fury powering his leap. Angel was ready for him, and as the giant creature lunged for him, he used his own supernatural speed to dodge. He ended up hanging from the creature's back, his arms around its furry neck. With a sharp twist and a loud snap, Angel turned it back into an action figure.

            "Nice," Gunn said with an approving nod. He reached down and helped Neville to his feet. The Gryffindor immediately went to where Dawn was lying unconscious.

            "Interesting." Wesley bent down and lifted the broken Evil-Lyn figure off of the ground. "They appear to have been fashioned from toys."

            "Duh," Cordy said, reloading the crossbow as she walked. "I've spent like one minute for every hundred you've had your nose in a book, and I could've called that one, Wes. Tell us something we don't know." The ex-Watcher gave her a friendly glare and went back to studying the broken figure.

            "We've got to get Dawn to the infirmary," Neville said. The slight girl was still unconscious, oblivious to him leaning over and feeling for her pulse or to his fingers running gently over the purpling area on her face. "She's alive, but she needs to see Madam Pomfrey. She took a nasty blow to the head before you arrived."

            Angel bounded over and scooped her limp form into his arms. "Lead the way."

            The first punch felt like the world imploding.

Tara's shield nearly crumbled right then and there. The raw power, something between magic and physical, was beyond anything Tara had ever known. If she was going to counter it, she needed to do the one thing she had held back from since the night she faced Voldemort.

            She had to let it all hang out.

Ignoring the images of Jess and Willow and their black eyes that leapt into her memory, Tara called on all the power she had. The energy came in a dazzling rush, surging through her veins like fire. She could feel her eyes whiten as she pumped more and more energy into the shield. The angel threw another punch, harder this time. Tara responded with more power. Blood ran freely from her nose and mouth as her clenched teeth cut into her gums, but the shield held.

            "Powerful little thing, aren't you? And so good and pure. I hardly ever see that anymore." He pulled his hand back from the barrier and waited. Tara readied herself again. His fist came down in a blur and hammered the shield a third time. What Tara felt, however, was the tiniest tap against her. Braced for a staggering impact, she overcompensated and stumbled forward a step.

            Already off-balance from the stumble, the blow from his other hand knocked Tara backwards onto the couch. She was practically sitting on the unconscious Slayer, and she momentarily felt her connection to the spell break. For the first time, tiny cracks spider-webbed out through the shimmering wall from the point of impact. The shield was about to go, and Tara knew it.

            No way would she let him get Buffy. No way.

            Tara reached as deep into herself as she could, harnessing every last scrap of power she possessed. Her grip started to recede, and she could feel her own life, her own memories, everything that was her disappear into the power. Part of her desperately pleaded to maintain her grip, but she knew she had no choice. The new energy rushed into the spell; the cracks vanished as she floated up off the ground, tiny white lightning bolts erupting from her hands.

            The angel raised his perfect eyebrows. "Nicely done. Living dangerously though, aren't we? Maybe treading on the edge of erasing ourself? I can feel it, girl. I don't think you want to head down that path."

            "I d-don't care what you think," she said, her voice taking on an otherworldly cast. The stutter comforted her a little – she wasn't completely gone yet. The fight had to end soon, though, because she knew she couldn't last long with this much power inside of her.

            He smiled coldly. "Very well. I just don't want you to be under the misconception that any human could draw enough power to stop me. Even if they did lose themselves in the magic."

Then he punched the wall again.

The cracks returned, and this time Tara had nothing left to give. He hit it one final time and his fist pierced the energy barrier completely. The force of the impact spun Tara out of the air and onto the couch, where she fell across the body of the motionless Slayer again. She tried to move, to reassert control over the spell, but this time she couldn't. She could barely breathe, and she felt the blood running freely over lips and down her chin.

            "A noble effort, girl. Not enough to stop someone like me, but noble nonetheless."

            A wet ripping sound cut him off. Tara looked up in time to see the steel tip of a broadsword pierce the angel's chest from behind.

"How 'bout that? Izzat enough, do ya think?" Spike said from the floor. Next to him, the open top of Buffy's handcrafted weapons chest rested against the living room wall.

            The angel fell to his knees with a groan.

            "MASTER!"

            Recks appeared, seemingly from thin air, and flapped rapidly to his master's side. He hovered between the two Scoobies and the angel, eyes flashing angrily. Spike reached into the chest for an axe, but Recks saw him move. The tiny ball of fur spat a stream of greenish fluid onto hit Spike's hand. He jerked it back, the pain intense.

            "Bloody hell! Acid!"

            "You will pay for killing my master! You will …"

            "Recks," the angel gasped. He had fallen to the ground, the sword now jutting prominently from beneath his neck, but the tip had no blood on it. "No demon can kill me, and surely not with metal." He rolled to his side to ease the pressure. "I live, but we must depart. Now."

            Recks glared one last time at the two Scoobies. Then he and the angel and all of the cultists vanished. Spike dove for them, thinking they had simply become invisible, but all he grabbed was empty air. They were gone.

            "Bloody hell," he repeated, sitting up from the floor and glancing at Tara and the still form of Buffy on the couch. "Blood-y hell."

            Willow pointed to the other end of the hall, where Grey was about to be skewered by Darth Maul.

            "Turn it off. Now."

            "I-I … I can't …" Amy gasped, deathly afraid of what Willow might do to her.

            "Don't lie to me, bitch!"

            Magic pulled Amy away from the wall, then banged her back against it. Hard.

            "No … Willow, please,  I really can't."

            Willow's blackened eyebrows scrunched together. Amy seemed too scared to be lying.

            "Fine. I'll take care of it. But then you and me are gonna have a little chat that may or may not end up with you running on a hamster wheel again." Still holding Amy steady against the wall, Willow turned her attention to the battle at the other end of the hall.

            Down the hall, Darth Maul loomed above Grey, his twisted smile dripping with anticipation of the kill. The former auror came up to one knee, glancing around for his lightsaber. He lashed out with a snap kick and knocked Darth Maul's blade free from his hand. Willow watched him do it, ready to cheer until the double-ended lightsaber halted in mid-air and flew back into Darth Maul's hand.

            "Okay, that is in no way fair," Grey gasped, trying mightily to get his breath back after the fierce series of body blows he had taken from the shrapnel. Then he saw his lover watching them. "Will!"

            The red blades extended from the Sith's lightsaber, and its horrific visage curled into a smile. With no warning, it sprang for Grey, the laser-like blades humming with energy. Grey rolled left, hoping to dodge under the strike and knowing he never could.

            Willow wasn't about to let that happen.

Grey's lightsaber leapt into the air. He felt her plan in his mind as it did and he knew what to do. The steel and sapphire of the handle felt surprisingly cool as he caught it and thumbed the ignition.

            The blue blade took Darth Maul just below the ribs and sliced all the way down through his crotch. The Sith lord sailed over Grey's head, and the smell of burning plastic filled the air. By the time he landed, Darth Maul was once again an action figure.

            "Nice moves, Willow," Amy said. With Willow's concentration split, she had forced her way down from the wall. She sent a glob of blue energy at the redhead. Willow turned back just in time to get the electric shock of her life.

            "Gah!" She shouted involuntarily as the electricity knocked her down. Tingly numbness overtook her whole body, as if it had suddenly fallen asleep. As he saw Willow fall, Grey sprinted down the hall towards the two witches.

            "You really think I'm going to let you turn me back into a rat, you arrogant bitch? I think a little lesson of your own is in order. Let's call it … How To Use Your Power 101. See, like this." Amy blew her a kiss, and Willow's insides caught fire. She started to convulse, arching her back and clawing at the ground to escape the pain. "Another birthday gift. Just for you."

            Amy felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to look and Grey's fist smashed into her jaw.

            "We haven't met," Grey said, his voice burning with barely-repressed rage. The lightsaber waved menacingly between them, and he glared at her with deadly menace. "I'll be playing the part of the guy who stops you this evening."

            She reached up and wiped a trickle of blood from her chin. Then she giggled.

            "Let her up or I'll start carving."

            "Oooh, scary Jedi." Amy's giggle became a throaty laugh. "Please. I can't even smell magic on you. What can you do to me?"

            She didn't let him answer. Two missiles of pure black energy shot from her eyes, aimed at straight at Grey.

            Grey moved so quickly that he didn't even hear what Willow's voice said in his head. A step to the left took him out of the line of fire, and flick of his wrists sent the black bolts right back into Amy's chest. The jolt of magical power flipped her over backwards and sent her sprawling, leaving only the smell of charred flesh in its wake. It also broke her concentration and ended the spell holding Willow.

            Willow rose into the air and righted herself, an otherworldly hatred twisting her pale features. Her power surged forward, running so wild that tiny black lightning bolts popped and crackled around her hands.

            "That was a really, really, REALLY big mistake," she snarled. "A-plus for your idea, though – I think the next lesson should also be of the painy variety. Like this."

            The force from Willow's spell knocked Grey to the ground before he could see the results of her handiwork. The flash blinded him. He could still hear, but the only things he heard were the liquid sound of flesh ripping and the unearthly wail of Amy screaming.

            "Well, now, the young ladies were quite fun to play with, but I think it's time to see what you gentlemen have to offer," Grindelwald said, brushing a strand of oily hair out of his face. Harry and Ron stared up from the floor with wide eyes as he stepped closer.

            CRACK!

            The dark wizard spun around, his wand following the sound. Behind him, Albus Dumbledore wore the most fierce glare Harry had ever seen. The room vibrated with his power.

            "Hello, Albus. It's been quite a long time.

            "You should not be here, Augustan." The sight of a half-century dead villain gave Dumbledore only the slightest pause. Ethan had been forthcoming after the truth spell had forced the information out of him. "Put your wand on the ground. Now."

"I've just been meeting some of your students," Grindelwald said, ignoring Dumbledore's warning, "and I have to say, they are quite extraordinary. Not one willing to beg for their lives. Outstanding, really."

            Dumbledore looked past him, saw the four students lying on the floor, and didn't hesitate.

            "_Windrego_."

            Grindelwald soared into the air and smashed through the brick wall next to the common room door.

            Dumbledore swished and flicked, freeing all four Gryffindors. Harry sprang to his feet; Ron rolled over and clutched the two girls to his chest. Hermione and Ginny remained mostly still, their eyes glassy and bodies trembling.

            Harry sprinted for the broken wall, diving through the opening and coming up in a combat crouch with Dumbledore two steps behind, both of them ready to attack.

            But when they scanned the hallway, the dark wizard was nowhere to be seen.


	43. Playthings VI: Closing the Toychest

            Dumbledore appeared in the corner of the Great Hall without warning. His discreet tap on the shoulder scared McGonagall so badly that she whirled around with her wand drawn.

            "I would rather we not create a commotion, Minerva," Dumbledore said, his voice low and urgent. "Please put that away."

            "Professor Dumbledore! How did you …" She gestured to the corner where he was standing; he could not have approached without her seeing.

            "I apparated here."

            "Apparated? But the defenses …"

            "Are not as intact as they once were, it seems," he confirmed with a short nod. "It has been a rather bad night, though, fortunately, you would not know it from standing in this room." He glanced at the dance floor, where the Halloween Ball continued unabated. Only Faith, Xander, and Lorne remained from the visitor's ranks, their faces twisted with anxiety as they watched the children enjoy themselves in grand fashion. Hagrid stood next to them, idly munching on a mutton chop the size of Xander's head while making stilted conversation.

            Dropping his voice to a whisper, Dumbledore detailed the evening's events. When he reached the part about Grindelwald, the Transfiguration professor turned white.

            "My word," she said when he had finished. Then her pale features hardened. "We must send someone to fetch Medi-Witches, and the aurors – we must summon the aurors."

            "Already done, Professor McGonagall. They'll be here shortly."

            She nodded, her pinched lips betraying her rapid thoughts. "How are the children?"

            Dumbledore's blue eyes dropped to his shoes. "Harry and Ron are quite alright. Shaken, nothing more. Well, that and angry, of course," he amended. "Miss Weasley and Miss Granger, however, are another matter."

            "I must see them right away."

            Dumbledore nodded, and without another word the two professors vanished.

            "What the bloody hell is this?"

            Spike's right arm held Tara upright from the waist. His other arm bound Jess, still unconscious, to his shoulder; the cuts on her shoulders and back were bleeding, and the smell was driving him crazy. The girl's blood reeked of power, and he knew it would taste heavenly. The strain of not sampling it had begun to tell by the time he forced the infirmary door open with his foot. Once he made it inside, the crowd in the infirmary drove all thoughts of eating from his mind. He had expected to find no one home. Instead, he seemed to have walked in on the fairy tale version of the first episode of MASH.

            Madame Pomfrey was on her knees by a bed at the back of the room, and entirely engaged in her ministrations. She spoke to Spike without looking up. "Are they dying?"

            "Don't think so. Just worn out an' in shock is all, plus a couple knicks and cuts."

            "Then put them in a free bed and I'll be with them in a bit." Without another word, she turned her focus back to her current patient, whom Spike couldn't see and whose smell he didn't recognize.

            Spike laid Jess on her back in the closest bed to the door and helped Tara plop down in the next one. He saw the Angel Investigations crew, minus Lorne, huddled around the next bed down. Harry and Ron were perched between the next two beds, where Spike could see Hermione and Ginny. Both girls lay face-up with a glassy thousand-yard stare. The angry looks on the boys' faces told the story there.

            "What went on here, Angelus?" Spike growled angrily. The elder vampire glared but rose from his spot on the bed to explain. When he did, Spike saw the occupant.

            "Dawn!" His game face appeared unbidden. "What did you do, you stupid berk?"

            "_Petrificus Totalus_," Pomfrey said calmly. The spell flashed and Spike froze in the middle of the room. "I want it quiet in here. I have no time for pointless prattle." Her wand disappeared; she had never even looked directly at Spike.

            "Can he hear me?" Angel asked Harry. Harry nodded. Angel grabbed a handful of Spike's duster and pulled him close. The jacket felt like it had been heavily starched. "Good. Listen up, Spike: she's not hurt badly. Just a minor concussion. Other people aren't so lucky, and if you can't control yourself, I will personally toss you out of this room and kick your pasty ass down several flights of those moving stairs. We don't have time for any of your crap. Now, Harry's gonna unfreeze you, but if you start anything …" He let it hang menacingly.

            Then he turned to Harry. "You can unfreeze him, right?"

            "Uh huh."

            "Do it. Please," Angel added a second later.

            "_Finite Incantatem_."

            Spike rolled his shoulders. "Damn, that's a creepy thing."

            "Why don't you skip the bullshit and tell us what happened in Sunnydale? Is Buffy …"

            "She's fine, Peaches. Wouldn'ta left if she wasn't. Unlike some people," he added pointedly. "Witches took a beatin', but we kept him away from Buffy. Got the twins an' their girls watchin' over her now, along with Demon-girl."

            "Was it …"

            "Yeah, it was him. Poncy git. Put a sword through his chest - pissed off his beanie baby pretty good, but didn't do a lot to His Heavenliness. How 'bout you tell me what happened here?"

            "Same thing that always happens," Harry said. His voice was flat and his eyes never left Ginny. "A dark wizard with a bug up his arse tried ta kill us an' I let my friends get hurt."

            "We let our friends get hurt," Ron corrected. Harry didn't offer any disagreement.

            Spike glanced at Angel with raised eyebrows.

            "I don't know about the commentary, but it was definitely an evil wizard."

            "He got Little Red an' Granger, Dawn, an' somebody else before Dumbledore put 'im down?"

            "He got away," Harry said.

            "Dawn got hurt by some … conjured minions of his," Angel said. "We took care of them. The somebody else wasn't him. She was with him."

            "Dumbledore put the hurt on her, then?"

            "No." Angel shook his head. His eyes moved grimly over the still form in the back of the room. "Willow did that."

            "Red?" Spike sniffed the air, then carefully examined the three injured girls near him. "S'an awful lot o' blood in this room, an' it didn't come from the Nibblet or the two lions. What'd she do?"

            "Tore an arm clean off. Then she beat her with it." Angel grimaced, picturing sweet little Willow working Amy over.

            Spike's eyes went wide. "Damn. Haven't seen anyone do that since you did it to that buggy driver in 1890."

            He was about to ask where Willow was when Dumbledore appeared in the center of the room with McGonagall at his side. The sudden entrance gave everyone a jolt except for Pomfrey, whose wand continued to bob and weave with unwavering focus.

            "How is she, Poppy?"

            "I've done almost everything I can for her, Professor. The arm is mangled beyond repair. Her wound is closed and the bleeding stopped. She'll need a lengthy spell on her back – there's no helping that." Madame Pomfrey finally looked up, her face empty of blood and her hair matted with sweat. Even her nurse's hat had fallen askew. "Professor, is it true? Willow did this?"

            Dumbledore nodded gravely. McGonagall moved silently to check on Hermione and Ginny. She sat down next to Ron and lightly stroked Hermione's hair. It was the most openly affectionate gesture Harry and Ron had ever seen her make.

            "Oh dear."

            "Not to take the focus away from the wounded for too long," Angel said, "but do we have any idea where Willow is now?"

            "Unfortunately not. We have several people attempting to track her at the moment, a task which you, Harry, could aid greatly."

            Harry looked up from Ginny. "Me?"

            "Yes. We need your map of the grounds."

            "The Marauder's Map," Ron said, nodding. "That'll tell you where she is if she's still here. You think she stayed on campus, Professor?"

            "Grey believes so. Apparently after she injured the young woman over there she came to her senses and took off running. He was too dazed to follow, but she was most definitely on foot."

            "It's in my trunk," Harry said dismissively. He turned back to his girlfriend and took her hand in his.

            "Would you be so kind as to retrieve it for us?" Dumbledore asked.

            "No. I don't much care where Willow is, Professor," Harry added. Everyone in the room could feel the anger creep into his voice. "I need to be here. With Ginny."

            Dumbledore nodded sagely, ignoring Harry's anger and rudeness as if it hadn't existed. "Very well." He vanished with a pop.

Grey thrust the weathered parchment into Sirius' hand.

            "Make it work."

            With a tap of his wand, the map came to life. He suppressed a smile as the familiar introduction danced across the page. Beside him, Remus stood tight-lipped and anxious.

            "Is she there?" Giles asked.

            "Yes. Here," Sirius said, pointing to the tiny dot labeled W. Rosenberg. The dot was in the center of the Dark Forest.

            "We go now," Grey said, his hand unconsciously brushing over the cool sapphire grooves of his lightsaber as he turned to leave the courtyard.

Giles stopped him with a hand on his arm, drawing a fierce look from the former auror. "She's deeply entrenched," he said, though whether he meant in the forest or the magic, Grey didn't know. "It's quite dangerous, and I daresay a modicum of caution is in order. "

            "Fuck caution." Grey shook him off and headed for the forest. Giles and the two wizards traded anxious looks, then hurried to follow him into the darkness. Sirius shifted into his dog form, darting back and forth across their path in hopes of picking up Willow's scent.

            After a few hundred yards of forest, all he could smell was evil.

            "She must have come a different way," Remus said, picking his way between branches as he spoke. "We should take care; this is a deadly environment, and if her control is already slipping …"

            "Yes, quite," Giles agreed.

            Grey said nothing, his face revealing none of his emotions. He kept replaying a scene from Dumbledore's office in his head as they walked. _I'll be the one to face you_, he had promised her almost a year before. It had seemed so obvious at the time, such a natural thing to do for a friend. _She loved me then_, he realized now. That too seemed obvious in retrospect, and he was glad he had validated her feelings for him.

Now that he had to actually steel himself for the task, though, fear and doubt draped themselves over him like a second skin. He barely heard Giles and Remus talking behind him and noticed the forest itself not at all. All he could see was Willow, her black hair and eyes framing her pale, vein-riddled skin as the magic crackled around her and Amy. The spell he had reflected back at Amy had knocked the evil witch senseless. When Willow moved in for the kill, Amy had never had a chance. Only his failed attempt to tackle Willow had stopped her from killing Amy; the sight of him sprawled on the floor, bleeding from her magical push, had shocked Willow out of her insanity. She had bolted from the hallway without a word.

            And now she was here. In the center of a massive glut of dark magic. Whether he could pull her out remained to be seen.

            They had nearly reached her when Sirius loped to the front of the group. He reverted to wizard form and laid a hand on Grey's chest.

            "Something's here. I can smell it," he whispered.

            The other three halted. Remus sniffed the air and nodded his agreement; they drew their wands, while Giles unsheathed his rapier and Grey gripped his lightsaber.

In the silence, they could hear the quiet shuffling of the leaves. The darkness covered up all but their immediate surroundings, and they had agreed not to use a light. Illumination worked both ways when it could only come from one source.

            The attack came without warning. Grey felt the creature an instant before it leapt, but the magical hunch was still a fraction of a second late to save him completely. Fully five hundred pounds of animal slammed into his chest with a roar, gouging red furrows under the gashes in his sweatshirt and sending his lightsaber flying into the bushes. Grey went over backwards. Their combined weight and the beast's momentum dashed any hope of maintaining his balance. Rocks and twigs dug into his flesh as they tumbled across the forest floor, and Grey could feel its hot breath on his forehead. Teeth the size of fingers opened wide to slam down and shred the flesh of his face. He tried to push the beast away, but its claws latched onto him and refused to give way.

            From his vantage point off to the side, Giles could see that the beast was a massive, purplish war hound. The point of his rapier came up and he moved to wade sword-first into the fight. Sirius' shout stopped him short.

            "You'll stick Grey with that thing. Let us handle it." Giles nodded. Sirius looked at Lupin. "James teach you the spell before he died? The one for the night of the full moon?"

            Lupin nodded. Sirius gestured to his torso, then changed into a dog. The beast atop Grey dwarfed him.

            "_Gravitas_," Lupin cast, waving his wand in an s-pattern in front of him.

            Physically, nothing visible happened to Sirius. When he lunged at the larger hound and caught it squarely in the midsection, though, the monstrosity flew off of Grey with a thump and sprawled onto its side at the base of a massive oak tree. Sirius landed next to Grey, barking and snapping his jaws at the hound. Grey rolled up on his side, the painful cuts squeezing a low moan from his throat.

            Giles and Lupin rushed forward and dragged him back to relative safety. "What now?" the Watcher asked. Sirius and the hound traded a series of hungry snarls and nasty swipes.

            "That spell won't last long. James only used to use it when I was … acting up, and they needed to restrain my wolf forcibly."

            "Do the opposite," Giles said, the answer coming to him in a sudden burst of insight. "Put it to sleep."

            Lupin didn't need to be told twice. "MORPHEO!"

            The white ball of light sped out of his wand and took the hound in the chest; it slumped to the ground, breathing deeply. Sirius changed back to wizard form.

            "Not bad, my friend," he said with a grim smile. Lupin nodded. "How's the auror?"

            "Fabulous," Grey mumbled. His whole torso was soaked in blood. "We need to find Willow." He spat, a mixture of spittle and blood. His insides felt like they were leaking out of him. "Also, someone needs to figure why I keep getting cuts on my chest. Every damn time," he muttered.

            "And if she finds you first? You're not much with the in-shape-to-stop-her-ness, are ya?"

            Willow, her hair still black and her skin pale as chalk, floated out of the darkness and landed in front of them.


	44. Playthings VII: Reparations and Preparat...

            "Everybody run," Grey wheezed. "Now."

            "Aww, c'mon. We can all play," Willow said in her mock little girl voice.

            Neither Giles nor the wizards moved.

            "See. Told you they want to play," she said.

            "Willow?" Giles asked tentatively.

            The pale witch scrunched her eyebrows, pretending to think. "Hmm. Not so much." She pretended to think again. "Nope. Definitely not." She flicked her hand at him; tentacles of green energy flew from her extended fingers and slithered along the forest floor. They ensnared Giles' limbs, binding him fast, then spread and locked up the two wizards next to him. "Next contestant?"

            "Cut the crap, Will," Grey said from the floor. He was starting to get light-headed from loss of blood. He knew he was in reach-her-quick-or-not-at-all territory. "I'm bleeding here, and I could use some help."

            "Uh huh. And I'm supposed to do what, exactly?"

            "Are you a witch or not? Heal me already."

            Her left eyebrow went up. She pulled a strand of hair in front of her eyes. "Okay, black hair. Check." She inspected her hand. "Pale, veiny skin. Check." With a come-hither motion, she summoned both Remus' and Sirius' wands into her hand. "Big-time dark mojo? Check." She looked down at Grey. "What's the puzzle here? I'm. A. Bad. Girl. We don't heal, as a rule. You saw Amy, right? How is the socket where her arm used to be, by the way?"

            "You did a bad thing. No denying that here. But you aren't evil. Not yet. You're just pissed off and guilty, and making bad excuses for losing control. Suck it up and deal, will you?"

            Her black eyes glowed and her nostrils flared.

            "_Frendo_," she said, closing her hand into a fist.

            A ghostly fist appeared all around him. When it closed, his scream pierced the Hogwarts night.

            "Fuck me," he gasped, the pressure turning his open cuts to fiery burning pits. _Baiting her – not the right strategy_, he thought as the pain coursed through him. After thirty seconds, she released the spell.

            "Was that good for you too?" She cackled evilly. Grey knew he was losing her. He wasn't about to give up, though. He loved her too much. _And I'm not losing another one,_ he thought forcefully. _Not while I'm still breathing._

            "You don't want to fight it. I get that. If you do, you have to accept what you did. But torture me all you want, Willow. I've been there before. I can take it. I'll just wait it out and get you back after."

            She knew he meant it. The steel in his brown eyes would have told her so, even if the weight of history and the tone of his voice hadn't. But none of that stopped her. Neither did the certain knowledge that Dumbledore and Tara and the rest of Hogwarts would stop her if she did anything worse. She didn't much care about them.

            What stopped Willow was her sudden vision of Grey hanging on Jess' wall, stakes through his shoulders and the black-haired witch laughing at his pain. A vision crafted of memory, rather than imagination, except that in Willow's mind, she didn't see Jess laughing.

            She saw herself.

            She fell from the sky to her knees and threw up. The retching continued for more than a minute after she emptied her stomach. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were green and shiny with tears.

            "Grey… oh goddess …" She scrabbled across the dirt, wrapping him up in her tiny arms and letting her tears drip down onto his scalp. "I'm so sorry."

            "No big," he whispered. He knew everything would be fine now. "Love you." Then he let himself pass out.

            Alone in his office two days later, Dumbledore put his head in his hands and indulged in a quiet moment of despair.

            His efforts to combat Voldemort were, if not quite in shambles yet, then certainly falling apart. The Slayer, supposedly his ace in the hole, was under siege from something so powerful that God had chosen to banish it rather than destroy it. Willow, until now the most powerful weapon in his arsenal, had brought Grey into the infirmary and promptly sworn off magic for good. His school, once the only true sanctuary against Voldemort's power, had been violated for the fourth time in a year, and now he had to find a way to repair defenses that had stood for a thousand years. How Voldemort had managed to siphon them into a spell that breached the veil between life and death, Dumbledore had no idea. But he had done so, and his cleverness had opened the school to his wrath.

And Harry … Harry's almost uncontrollable anger over the pain inflicted on Ginny and Hermione was frightening to behold, and the talk that they were about to have would only make things worse.

            The tiny pinches from Fawkes' clawed feet brought Dumbledore out of his reverie. Perched on his left shoulder, the bird leaned its head against Dumbledore's and gave a drawling hoot.

            "I know, my friend. Somehow we will survive, as we always do. Somehow."

The bird cawed softly, but to him it seemed cold comfort.

            Dumbledore was still seated at his desk stroking Fawkes' tail feathers when the knock came at the door five minutes later.

            "Come," he said.

            The door opened; Harry, Spike, and Giles entered together. Sirius trotted in behind them. When the door closed, he reverted to his natural form. He looked more haunted than Dumbledore had seen him since his return from Azkaban. They had already discussed what was about to happen, and though Sirius had initially resisted, he knew the importance of telling Harry the truth. He had insisted on being present, though, and Dumbledore had readily agreed.

            "You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked. The rage rolled from him in waves. Sirius stood behind him as he took one of Dumbledore's chairs, resting a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder.

            "Yes, Harry, I do. I asked Spike and Professor Giles to join us – I feel that they need to hear what I am about to tell you."

            "That's fine," he said. He hesitated, then added, "I'd like to keep it brief if we could, sir. I don't like being away from Ginny."

            "I understand. If this wasn't of great importance or urgent, I wouldn't have called you away. How is she?"

            "Still not saying much. She sleeps, mostly. Hermione, too."

            "They'll be fine, Potter," Spike said. "First time for torture's not like the first time at anything else, but it passes."

            "How comforting," Giles muttered. In a louder voice, he said to Dumbledore, "This is about the man Spike fought in California, isn't it, Albus?"

            "In a roundabout way, Rupert. Has Harry …"

            "I know it's an angel after Buffy," Harry confirmed. "Or ex-angel, rather. Professor Giles spoke with us in the infirmary."

            "Then I won't waste time with explanations of that." He paused, running a hand through his flowing white beard and examining Harry carefully. The boy had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was entirely mussed, and his robe had the limp, wrinkled look of a lengthy wear. His unkempt appearance made Dumbledore feel even more guilty about what he had to do, but the elderly wizard had long since grown accustomed to completing tasks he found distasteful. "Harry … it is time for me to tell you something that I believe you should have known long ago. I wish that I could avoid placing this burden on you, but the time has arrived for you to know the full truth of the matter. I only ask that you have patience and here me all the way out before you respond. Can you do that?"

            Harry nodded. The bottom suddenly dropped from his stomach. Whatever Dumbledore had called him in for, this was it, and it looked big.

            "I would caution you not to repeat this to anyone else." Harry agreed. Then Dumbledore took a deep breath, and, his penetrating gaze never wavering from Harry's green eyes, he told him of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy. Of Voldemort's attack on his parents' house. Of their mingled destinies. When he finished, Harry said nothing for a long moment.

            In his mind's eye, Harry watched a kaleidoscope of memories flash by while Dumbledore spoke. He saw a green flash cut off his mother's strangled cries, then another snuff the life from Cedric Diggory. He saw the shades of Voldemort's victims billow out from the evil wizard's wand, then helpless students collapse as a whirling maelstrom of debris struck them down in the Great Hall. Then he saw Hermione and Ginny wriggling on the ground, their screams trapped in their throats as Grindelwald tortured them. _Three days ago I would've been pissed at Dumbledore for keeping this from me_, he realized. He could even see himself in an imaginary version of Dumbledore's office, screaming and tossing things about as he raged.

            Now he raged, but not at Dumbledore. The Headmaster had given him a gift. He, and no one else, could punish Voldemort. No one else could finish the dark wizard once and for all. No one else but him.

            He was so angry at what had been done to Ginny and Hermione that the thought of killing a person didn't even bother him. Instead he felt detached. Almost hollow. The only thing that seemed real was the vision of the girls lying in the infirmary.

            Sirius felt Harry tense under his hand.

            "Thank you, Professor," Harry said quietly. He rose from his seat. "I think I should be getting back to Ginny now."

            "Not just yet, Harry," Dumbledore said, surprised and concerned by Harry's apparent lack of emotion. He had never been one for cold rage, and his lack of a reaction to Dumbledore's tale worried the Headmaster greatly. "We have not yet discussed the reason I have told you this."

            "I should like to point out, Harry, that prophecies are dicey things at best," Giles said. The boy's unnerving calmness concerned him as well.

            "Frankly, Professor," Harry responded, his green eyes like ice, "he deserves a lot worse than death."

            "Killin' a person's a big step, Potter," Spike said. "You're right peeved now, an' you should be after what the berk did ta your friends, but you need ta think about what Rupes here is sayin'. Death's a big black line to cross."

            Harry nodded, vaguely realizing he might feel differently about this once he had calmed down, but Ginny's bed-ridden form consumed his thoughts.

            Sirius could see that Harry was not himself at the moment, and that the full weight of this would crash down on him once the girls had recovered a bit more. He silently vowed that he would do everything he could to help him live with that weight.

            Rather than say so, though, he said, "Tell him the rest, Professor."

            "There's more?" Harry asked.

            Dumbledore nodded. "And this, like the prophecy, you cannot share with anyone. Is that understood?"

            Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if he wanted to share the prophecy or not, but he wouldn't.

            "Since the last term ended, Spike has, for his own reasons, been seeking a soul." Harry nodded. He knew this already, and told Dumbledore as much. "His quest has, it seems, become entangled with the angel who is menacing Miss Summers in Sunnydale."

            "It has?"

            "Yes. No creature without a soul can slay a spawn of heaven."

            "Tested that one thorough-like," Spike added. "Sword in the chest didn't get it done."

            "Wow" was all Harry could say. He would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of Spike's sword under any circumstances.

            "Yes. At any rate," Dumbledore continued, "the vampire who possesses the secret of ensouling Spike has requested a rather steep price for it. He seeks the blood of Voldemort's mortal enemy."

            "Which," Harry finished, putting it all together, "is me."

            Dumbledore nodded.

            "We only get one shot at him, Potter. We need to bloody well get it right the first time," Spike said. "We … I … need ya to come with me to meet with the Don, an' let him take some o' your blood."

            "Wait a minute!" Sirius broke in with a shout. "The deal was for a vial of Harry's blood, not to let that damn leech take it from him straightaway."

            "It won't work, Sirius," Giles said. "We don't know how much he'll need. We don't know how fresh it has to be. We don't know anything."

            "Not. A. Chance." Sirius growled. His hand hovered inches from his wand. "No way are we putting Harry in danger just so Bloodlust here can shag the Slayer. Sod that."

            They stood frozen that way, Sirius and Spike trading angry glares, Giles and Dumbledore looking on silently, for nearly ten seconds until Harry broke the stalemate.

            "I'll do it," he said calmly.

            "No, Harry, you won't," Sirius replied. "Your parents charged me with protecting you, an' that doesn't include letting you get bit by a vampire."

            "And a spiffing job you've done so far," Harry spat. Sirius cringed, knowing Harry was right. "Four times I've had to fight off Voldemort – more than my parents, that's what Professor Dumbledore said. Spike gets a soul, an' he can sort out this Prince o' Lust guy hunting the Slayer – that's a big win for us, Sirius. An' we're a bit short of wins at the moment. Besides," he added, his voice calming a little, "I like Buffy. She helped me when I needed it. If I'm the only one who can help her, I'm not going to shy away. You think my parents would want me to do that?"

            Sirius seemed to be searching for a response. Spike clapped him on the shoulder. "Hero gene, Puddles. What'd I tell ya?" He turned to Harry and added, "Thanks, mate."

            "I'm going along." Sirius' voice was still rough with anger, but he knew he could argue with Harry until the end of time and still not win. His godson would just agree and then promptly sneak away. "He gets hurt an' the Slayer'll be hooverin' you up afterward."

            "When do we leave?" Harry asked.

            "Soon's the sun goes down," Spike said. Dumbledore and Giles both agreed. "We'll take Faith along. She's itchin' for some action."

            "No change?"

            "Nuh uh." Jess shook her head. Her shoulders rested on the wall beside the entrance to Willow's room "Tara's in with her now."

            "What do you think?" Grey asked, his voice quiet.

            "Honest? I think she meant it. She's not hurt or angry or anythin'. She's scared. An' scared is a bad place to be with magic. It paralyzes you, makes you feel like you got no control. Then, 'cos you feel like that, you can't control anything."

            He didn't really understand, but he nodded anyway.

            "What'd Dumbledore say?" Jess asked.

            "The kindly British wizard version of I've got other shit going on right now. He's confining her to Hogwarts and slamming the lid on it. He doesn't want a Ministry inquiry that'll end up with Willow in Azkaban."

            "What's more important than this?"

            Grey shrugged. He was just glad Willow wasn't being imprisoned. Dumbledore was taking a huge risk in handling her himself, but, Grey reasoned, she was a key player in the fight with Voldemort. The exigencies of war sometimes changed the rules.

            "You gonna try and go in there again?" When he had first returned from the infirmary, Willow had refused to see him. When he ignored her and moved closer, she had hurled him out the door and slammed it shut by force of will.

            "Yeah. It's been almost 12 hours. She's gotta be calmer by now."

            Jess reached up and cupped his chin, turning his eyes to hers and inspecting him carefully.

            "I know you, hon. You're not as calm about this as your actin'. What gives?"

            He removed her hand from his chin. "Me getting upset about this helps nobody. I'll be upset later. Right now Willow needs me."

            "I never got that," Jess admitted. "Not the Willow part – that's obvious. I mean, I never got how ya could jus' put aside how you're feelin' and save it for later. When I feel stuff, I jus' feel it, y'know?"

            "Yeah, I know. I do what I have to, I guess." He reached for the door. "I've gotta go now."

            She nodded, then impulsively slipped her arms around him and gave him a tender hug. "You be careful in there."

            "If I need you, you'll know it," he said, answering her unspoken offer. Then he bid her goodbye and gave Willow's password to the portrait over the door.

            Someone, most likely Tara, had a roaring fire lit in Willow's fireplace. The blonde witch sat in one of the high-backed chairs in front of it, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes watching the redheaded figure on the bed. Both of them were silent.

            Grey drifted quietly to Tara's side and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, nodded, and stood slowly.

            "She hasn't s-said anything in awhile," Tara whispered to him. "She's crying, but the sobbing and w-wailing just kinda stopped."

            He nodded. "I'll take over for a bit. You need some food and some rest."

            "A-are you sure? After before…"

            "I'll break the wall down if I need to, but she won't throw me out again."

            "I don't think she meant to before," Tara said. "Sometimes her m-magic just reacts to her feelings on its own."

            He nodded again. He had seen it before, too. "I know. It'll be fine."

            Tara pursed her lips, looking like she wanted to say more, but she didn't. She just gripped his hand briefly and let herself out.

            Finally, he turned and looked at Willow. She was facing the huge windows by her bed, arms folded around her knees, staring out over the dark grounds at nothing. Her gray drawstring pants and dark blue sweatshirt hung limp and wrinkled from sweat and tears. As he crossed the room, he realized the sweatshirt was his. Or it had been, until she had confiscated it.

            Grey plopped himself down on the bed next to her. His eyes followed her gaze out the window.

            "This kind of reminds me of the first time we ever really talked." He kept his voice low, as if he was trying not to disturb somebody sleeping on the other side of the room. "You with the hands over the knees and the sleepwear and the ponytail, upset over losing control of your magic. Remember?"

            She didn't answer. She didn't look at him. She didn't even twitch. Only her tears moved.

            He reached for her hand. She yanked it away in a blink.

            "I think we can safely say your muscle response isn't affected."

            "Don't." The word came out hoarse and sandy, barely with the sound of Willow in it.

            "It is affected?"

            "Don't joke. No jokes. Not now."

            He nodded slowly. "No more jokes."

            A tear dripped down from her right eye. She watched it slide from her chin onto her lap. "Can't seem to get all cried out. I guess that means I feel pretty bad. Yay me."

            "Can I ask you for a favor?"

            Her eyes scrunched the tiniest bit. "What?"

            "Can I ask you for a favor?"

            She shrugged, but her gaze was off the window and on him now.

            "Would you hold me?"

            "Huh?"

            "You know – wrap me up in a really long, soft Willow hug? Please?"

            He sounded so pathetic, she almost had no choice. But she still managed to resist a little.

            "You don't want one. Not after … not now."

            "I really do," he insisted. "I've had a seriously crappy week, and I'm in a fair amount of pain, too."

            Willow stared at him for a few more seconds, then leaned back and gestured stiffly for him to come closer. Grey slid off his shoes, crawled up onto the bed, and leaned back against her chest so that his head rested in the crook of her neck. She tried not to, but her arms involuntarily wrapped around him and pulled him in.

            When they stopped moving, both of them felt themselves relax a little.

            "I love you," he said quietly.

            She hesitated. "Are we okay?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well … I mean, I made with the pain, and hurting your lover? Not so much the best way to make a relationship last. When you're not, y'know, a vampire anyway. And so, after …"

            "Will," he said, cutting her ramble off, "I just told you I love you."

            "But … did you mean it in an 'I love you – goodbye' sitcomy way?" He felt her heart speed up and her chest tighten. She was really scared.

            "No. Of course not. I meant it in the 'I love you – as soon as my chest heals we're having really dirty makeup sex-y' way."

            In spite of herself, she chuckled. The vibrations sent a twinge of pain through Grey's injured chest, but he willed himself to be still. They were quiet for a few minutes until Willow finally spoke again.

            "I've known Amy since Junior High. Did you know that?"

            "Uh uh."

            "We used to hang. Her mom was this crazy witch – she was like the second Little Bad the Scooby gang ever beat."

            "Amy didn't seem to have things tied too tightly either, Will."

            "She's not really like that. I mean, she is, but I think it's cause of the magic. She's an addict, too, but she didn't get all twelve-steppy." _Way good that worked out for you, huh, Rosenberg_, Willow thought.

            "It wasn't your fault," Grey said. "I can hear you thinking."

            "Right. The devil made me do it. Or possibly my dog told me to. Or it was the government – yup, that's it. The CIA. And none of it would've happened if you had let me wear my little tin foil hat." She sighed. "Grey, I know you mean well, and nobody wants your absolvey comments to be true more than me. But – I did this." He could feel her start to cry again, even before the first tear rolled down and hit his shoulder. "I … I can't control my magic. I used it, and I tore Amy's arm off. I beat her within an inch of her life. Maybe less, like a centimeter, or-or possibly a millimeter. Nothing you say is gonna change that."

            "I guess not," he admitted. "They told me that you swore it off, that you won't do any anymore."

            "Uh huh."

            "Is that wise? What'd Dumbledore say?"

            "That he understood. That when I was ready, he would be there to teach me. I told him that I wouldn't, that I was done with it."

            "And?"

            "I dunno. He just gave me this look, like he knew how wrong I was but I was gonna have to find out for myself. But he's the one who's wrong."

            _This is going to end well_, Grey thought. But he just nodded and burrowed deeper into her arms.


	45. What is Righteous, Who is Bold

            "You're goin' where?" Ron's eyes were wide.

            "Los Angeles. With Spike and Sirius."

            "But … when?"

            "Tonight. Soon as the sun sets there. Should be a couple of hours from now."

            "I don't get why you haveta go."

Harry glanced around; the two of them were alone in the infirmary with the two sleeping girls. Madame Pomfrey had given the girls a sleeping draught to make sure they slept properly on their final night in the infirmary. The girls wouldn't hear anything. He briefly considered Dumbledore's warning, but Ron needed to know. Not about the prophecy – not yet, anyway – but there was no good reason to keep the information about Spike from him. Hermione was certain to know it already, based on what Professor Giles had said. The three of them were in this together, and Harry had had enough of secrets to last a lifetime. Either they trusted each other or not. Hermione and Ron had made it their war, and Harry wasn't going to keep them out of it.

He sketched out what he had heard at the meeting. When Ron asked how they knew it was his blood, Harry pointed to the scar.

            "Wicked," Ron said when Harry pointed. Then without hesitating he added, "I'm going with you."

            "What – no, you're not, Ron. You need to be here with the girls."

            "In case what? Bugger all's gonna happen to 'em in the infirmary, and they'll be sleeping through the night. Besides," he said seriously, "you're my best mate, Harry. No way am I lettin' you go after a vampire king without me watchin' your back. Not a bloody chance."

            "Besides the fact that no one else will let you go, it's way too dangerous."

            "Says the eleven year-old who took me with him to fight You Know Who."

            Harry gave him a hard glare. "Ron, no."

            Ron glared right back. "Harry, yes."

            "Your mum'll kill us both. She's still asleep in the guest quarters, remember?" Every Weasley but Fred and George, who were in Sunnydale, had guest rooms at Hogwarts while Ginny healed. Molly had been so hysterical that Madame Pomfrey had been forced to sedate her.

            "Not that I'm keen to get in the way of a master vampire, but mum would be worse. She'd kill me for lettin' you go alone."

            Harry could see there was no budging Ron; his heart really wasn't in trying, either. He wanted his friend there as much as his friend wanted to be there.

            "Alright," he said after a few seconds' pause. "Let's go get changed."

            They were gone for ten minutes before one of the shadows detached itself from the wall and slipped away silently in the direction of the owlery.       

            It was a somber group that stepped through the Hyperion lobby fireplace a few hours later. Sirius, Remus, Harry, and Ron all wore black robes, the boys with Gryffindor patches on theirs. Spike had opted for his villain costume: black jeans and a black t-shirt under a red silk shirt, all covered by his leather duster. Faith wore her white t-shirt and dark denim ensemble, with stakes in the waistband and a mini-crossbow on her wrist. Somehow dressing for evil made both Spike and Faith feel stronger when they fought on the side of right. They didn't discuss it, but they each recognized it in the other, and that gave them some perverse comfort as well.

Convincing Sirius and Remus to let Ron come along had taken some shouting, a bit of cajoling, a fair amount of demanding, and a touch of whining, but in the end it took far less time than Harry had thought it would. Sirius had, however, made them swear not to tell Molly Weasley, who he knew would debut several recipes for wolf and dog meat if she found out they had brought Ron along.

            All of Angel Investigations turned out to meet them. They were armed to the teeth, sides and backs bristling with armaments of steel and wood.

            "Who knew that you had friends?" Angel said as Spike and Sirius stepped out of the fireplace, the last to arrive.

            "Stuff it, Angel. None o' that bullshit tonight."

            The others took in Angel's obvious shock at being called by his name. Spike was nervous and letting it show. That almost never happened around Angel, and the elder vampire shut his mouth.

            "So, what's the sitch, kids?" Faith asked.

            "We checked it out," Gunn answered. "He's there, but something could be up. Guard's doubled and the Don's camped out in the courtyard with the amazon vamp and some burly looking henchmen. He's also got a bunch of clowns in green robes getting chanty on the perimeter."

            "Did the robes have snakes on them?" Remus asked. Gunn shook his head. "Well, Death Eater ceremonial robes are green, with snakes running along the arms. Otherwise, I believe they only wear the black. Not that I would expect him to associate with Death Eaters if Voldemort is pitted against him."

            "Probably Relechero shamans from Tijuana," Angel said. "They do a lot of defensive spellwork. Very talented, very pricey. It means he's scared."

            "Anybody bother to ask why this Voldemort cat is after the Don?" Gunn asked. "Seems a little out of the way, don't it? A vampire in Los Angeles?"

            "The Don's not the only one with seers," Remus suggested. "It could be that he poses a threat to Voldemort in some way."

            "Like stopping his renegade angel from taking Buffy out of the game?" Ron asked. Everyone turned and looked at him.

            "Damn," Wesley said. "We should have thought of that. I think we had better hurry," he suggested. The others nodded.

            "Alright," Angel said, "here's our plan."

            At two in the morning, Beverly Hills was eerily silent. Ron and Harry clutched their wands tightly in their sweaty hands. The plan made them nervous, but they had neither the age nor the experience to question it. Everyone but Sirius had readily agreed, and as a result of his protests Angel was accompanying the three of them, along with Spike, into the courtyard. The others had their own assignments, and Harry hoped they could carry them off. If not, and something went wrong, the team in the courtyard would be in very big trouble.

            "It's killin' me," Ron whispered as they crossed the street in front of the Don's mansion, "but I almost wish Malfoy was with us."

            Harry nodded, but not without a chagrined look. The blonde wizard might be an almost-evil bastard, but he had talent, and they worked well together. They hadn't seen Malfoy since before Halloween, and couldn't have risked approaching him under any circumstances.

            The group of five reached the tall gate, both Ron and Harry marveling at the size of the vampire's muggle home. Spike called out to the two sentries, who attended them swiftly.

            "Yeah?" The lead one wore a black suit with no shirt. A gold necklace dangled on his pale, hairless chest.

            "Here to see the Don," Spike said. "Got what he's looking for." Spike gestured to Harry.

            The vampire sighed unnecessarily. "About time. These extra shifts are killing me, man, and I'm already dead." He gestured to someone they couldn't see and the gate swung open. "He's getting mad paranoid, man. You don't even know."

            He led them up the driveway and through the impressive house, chattering the whole way about how hard the Don was making them work.

            "… I'll tell you, I ain't had time to get a woman in months, man. Human or vampire. I'm going crazy." The vampire shook his head and opened the door to the inner courtyard. "Go on in. He's expecting you."

            Inside the courtyard, Ron and Harry could only gape some more. Ten vampires ringed the Don, all with muggle guns in their hands. Around them was the largest circle of sorcerer's sand Harry had ever seen, and beyond that a dozen sorcerers, all wearing the green robes Gunn had described.

            The Don himself sat on a raised chair, almost a throne. The tallest woman Harry had ever seen knelt by his side, her hand in his. She was obviously a vampire.

            "Whoa," Ron said, observing her well-tailored black leather jumpsuit.

            "William? Is that you?" The Don leaned forward in his chair. He didn't seem very healthy to Harry, even for a vampire. His skin was far paler than Spike's, and his cheeks were shrunken and wrinkled as if he had recently lost a lot of weight. "It's about time! I've been waiting for weeks."

            "Took some time to find out who you wanted," Spike said. He boldly led their team inside the protective circle and past the armed guards to stand before the throne.

            Ignoring the rest of them, the Don's eyes raked Harry hungrily.

            "This is the one. The Potter boy, the Boy Who Lived." He was practically drooling. Harry felt Sirius shift uneasily next to him and saw Angel and Spike trade a quick glance. "Of course – I should have known. Come here, boy."

            Harry looked to Spike, who shook his head.

            "Not jus' yet," Spike said to the Don. "You give us what we want, we'll give you what you want." He produced an empty glass test tube from inside his duster, a gift from Fred back at the hotel.

            "No, no, no – that won't do. It's too close, too soon. I need all of it."

            "What?" Ron shouted, unable to restrain himself. "What d'you mean all of it?"

            "The boy. I'll drain the boy, then you'll get what you want."

            "Not in this lifetime," Angel said.

            "You're bloody dreaming," Sirius said. His wand rose.

            "That's not wise, Black. Not wise at all. My men aren't the lax guards of Azkaban, and I can't promise how slow their trigger fingers will be."

            "Tell me what I want to know an' you can have him," Spike said, not batting an eye.

            "What?" Sirius turned on Spike, who laid him out with one punch. The chip sent a wave of pain through his head, but Spike disregarded it with a grimace.

            "Hey!" Harry shouted.

            "No time for dog boy." Spike grabbed Harry's arm roughly, pinning his wand to his side and with his free hand shoving Ron away. Genuine fear appeared on both boys' faces. This wasn't in the plan.

            "Spike," Angel growled, his game face emerging.

            "Sod Voldemort, Peaches. This is about savin' Buffy. I'm not lettin' her die again. Are you?"

            Angel stared at him for a long second. Ron took the opportunity to turn his wand on Spike. Angel reached out and grabbed Ron, trapping his wand arm like Spike had Harry's.

            "Excellent, excellent," the Don said, nearly clapping his hands together with the joy of it. "Bring him here."

            "Not 'til you tell me what I want to know. We're takin' an awful risk for you here an' you bloody well know it. This means we're gonna have to deal with Dumbledore. Talk."

            The Don seemed to consider that for a moment. Then he nodded.

            "Yes, very well. Perhaps we can work out an arrangement for that? I can offer excellent assistance, for the right price, of course."

            Spike shrugged. "Don't much care for that right now. Talk."

            The Don nodded. "Do you know of the Deeper Well?"

            "I do," Angel said, still gripping a struggling Ron tightly. "The essences of dead Old Ones are housed there," he told Spike.

            "Yes. The key to your victory, William, lies with the Old One known as Eckayon. Only through Eckayon can you find what you seek."

            "How?" Spike asked.

            The Don shrugged. "No idea. Cass spelled it out for us, and I dutifully found out what it meant. I do not renege on my bargains, nor do I shortchange my business partners, but that is the extent of my obligation. I told you I would direct you to your answer, nothing more, nothing less. Now, I have completed my part of the bargain. It is your turn."

            Spike smiled, dragging Harry towards the dais. "You'll get what's comin' to ya." He looked at Angel. "Now?"

            "Now."

            From the ground, Sirius pointed his wand straight up into the air. "_Electro_," he called out. A bolt of lightning leapt from his wand, rocketing upwards into the night sky.

            "Very impressive," the Don said when nothing else happened. "Perhaps my guards overwhelmed your double-cross, hmm? You two ... possibly the worst strategists I ever met who thought they were great." He shook his head sadly and gestured to the guards and the sorcerers, all of whom turned inward menacingly. "The wizards can't harm you until you leave the circle, but the guns, I assure you, work just fine."

            The vampires raised their weapons, but before the Don could give the order to fire a score of crossbow bolts sped from the roof of the house. The bolts sailed true, and in an instant, every vampire in the circle except the Don was dust.

            Sirius came to his feet and Spike and Angel released Harry and Ron. Surprise flashed across their faces.

            "What the …" Harry asked. He looked up and saw Remus, Faith, Lorne, Cordelia, Fred, Gunn, and Wesley standing at the edge of the roof. Everyone but Remus had a crossbow in each hand, and Remus' wand was out. He had been magically guiding the bolts, Harry and Ron realized at the same time.

            "Cool," Ron said. Harry nodded.

            "Contingency plan," Spike replied with a grin. He turned back to the Don. "Now, let's play our game. See, we cut a deal, an' it was for a vial o' blood. I'm no welsher. You can have your vial, an' it'll be fresh. But the Boy Who Lived is gonna go on living for a bit longer."

            "I seriously doubt that, vampire," an icy voice said before the Don could react.

            "No!" Harry shouted, whirling around. He knew that voice.

            From inside the house, a barrage of green energy exploded into the courtyard. Every one of the green-robed wizards dropped where they stood. Dead.

            A dozen black-robed Death Eaters stepped out from the house to replace them. The one who had spoken, the one Harry knew was Lucius Malfoy, ostentatiously walked up and rubbed a break in the protective circle.

            "Yes, Potter. And now, finally, I will take care of you for my master and he will elevate me to his exalted side." Malfoy laughed coldly, then turned his hooded face on the Don. "As for you, the Dark Lord knows of your treachery. You shall pay your price, and not swiftly."

            The Don rose from his throne, his features twisting as his vampiric ridges emerged. "I am a businessman. I do not swear allegiance, no matter what your foolish master thinks. William," he said, looking to Spike, "might we perhaps work out an arrangement for my protection?"

            Spike nodded. The group of six spread out slowly as the Death Eaters watched silently.

            "Three vampires," Malfoy said to his assembled compatriots. "No death spells. Kill them with something more … painful." Harry could picture the icy smile forming under the hood as a dozen wands came up.

            Everything seemed to explode into motion at once. The Death Eaters launched a rainbow of spells at the group. Harry, Ron, and Sirius dove for the dirt and came up blasting. One Death Eater fell, stunned by Ron, and two others saw their wands fly off into the house. They scrambled for cover behind the stone façade facing the inner courtyard.

            Spike caught a _Cruciatus_ curse in the left thigh, sending him to the ground with gritted teeth.

            Angel rolled under the fusillade and came up punching. His onslaught rent the Death Eater line in two. A pair of robed wizards pulled back to try and find some room to cast while another pair fell unconscious from his flailing elbows.

            Remus, Faith, Wes and Gunn jumped from the roof. Ron looked up in time to see Remus carefully controlling their descent with his wand. When they landed intact, the four of them leapt into the fray. Faith, her Slayer speed giving her the edge, darted to Spike's side. Lucius was waiting, his wand ready.

            "VERTIGIO!" Malfoy shouted; the orange-tinged burst caught Faith high on the left shoulder. In her head, the world tilted crazily. Up became down and down became up. Her stomach flipped as well, and she felt the urge to throw up.

            The spell threw her sense of direction into chaos, but it couldn't stop her momentum. She plowed into Malfoy at full speed. Their impact with the ground snapped two of his ribs, and he cried out in pain as her fists flailed wildly into his injured torso.

            The Don feinted a move at the wizards, then made directly for the spot where Harry lay on the ground. His fangs glistened as he grabbed the teenage wizard and forced his head to the side.

            "Now I will have my protection," he whispered hungrily.

            Harry swore he could feel Death's icy touch in the Don's pale flesh. The touch paralyzed him, turning his blood cold. The monster above him lowered its jaws, intent on sucking the life from him, and Harry couldn't move. He realized with sickening certainty that he would die, and more, that with him would go any chance of defeating Voldemort. The world would fall unless he moved, and still he couldn't. He tried to raise his wand hand but the Don's leg pinned it beneath them. No spell would make its way out of his frozen mouth. All he could do was wait helplessly as Death devoured him.

            An instant later he was sputtering from a mouthful of dust.

            When he cleared the dirt from his eyes, Ron was kneeling next to him. His right hand clutched his wand like a stake.

            "Alright, Harry?" Ron asked as the dust finished settling over them both. "Told ya you needed me here."

            Harry expelled his held breath in a violent rush. He clasped Ron briefly on the shoulder as they climbed to their feet. The dust fell away and Harry's head cleared. "Always. Now …"

            "Ass-kicking? Sounds like a riot," Ron said, grinning. "Wait, where are they?"

            They looked around. The only people left in the courtyard were Angel's people, their people, and the dusty remnants of the Don.

            "Popped off," Spike said angrily. "Bloody nuisance, that trick is. Any way to track 'em?"

            "No," Remus said, shaking his head. "They can mask their movements from the Ministry."

            "Is everyone unharmed?" Wes asked.

            Everyone answered that they were fine.

            "Scared me near to death, putting me front and center like that," Harry said to Spike, who shrugged.

            "No choice. We thought he might try an' drain you. Couldn't have that, you bein' special and all. Did need ya to look shocked, though, an' with the Don thinkin' I'm all evil and Peaches is all Buffy-whipped, which he is," Spike added in a stage whisper, "it seemed like a good idea not to tell ya. Good work," he said to Ron. "Stakin' a master vampire on your first go's pretty impressive."

            Ron's ears turned pink. He nodded.

            "So did you get the juicy morsels you were looking for?" Faith asked.

            "Yeah. Dead bastard held up his end of the bargain."

"Where to next?"

            "Scotland," Angel said. "The Deeper Well's in Scotland, so that's where we go."

            "We?" Spike and Wes asked at the same time.

            "I'm going with him," Angel declared. "Wes, you're in charge until I get back." He turned to Spike. "It's a bad place. You'll just screw it up by yourself, and it's too important to Buffy to let you fuck around until you decide to come begging for help again."

            "'Fore you start barkin' orders, Angelus, you should use that caveman brow a bit," Spike said. "First we're goin' to Sunnyhell, check in on the Slayer … Buffy," he amended, glancing at Faith. "Then we need research. Whatever this Old One is, s'gonna be big an' dangerous an' it's gonna want something. I wanna know what before I go all fists an' fangs. After that, you wanna come, that's fine, but if you are, could you find some damn hair gel that doesn't smell like the back end of a Chaos Demon?"


	46. The Many Faces of Resolve

"You know, for a Prince o' Darkness, you seem right unhappy." Mel's lips brushed against Draco's throat as she spoke. When she was done, she went back to laying tiny kisses on his pale flesh.

"S'not you, if you're wondering," he choked out, his voice rough. Her hand was toying with the hair at the base of his neck, and the combination was going a long way to forcing him out of his funk.

"Like this, do you?"

"You know I do." He pulled her mouth up to his, and for a few minutes there was no sound louder than the wind whistling across the rooftop around them. When they finally broke for air, Draco wrapped her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. The feel of his muscular body made her tingle, even with two sets of winter robes between them.

"What's wrong, Malfoy? We finally slip away, an' you're here but you're sorta not, too."

She felt him sigh. "Long week."

"I woulda thought a Bad Boy like yourself would enjoy a little mudblood torture. Especially aimed at Granger and a Weasley. Or are we back to you being sweet on Granger?"

"Thought Gryffs didn't say that word."

"Sweet?'

"You know what I meant. Mudblood."

"Some do. Some don't. You need ta get off this good little Gryff image you got of me."

He gently disengaged himself from her and leaned back against a brick chimney. Only their hands were still touching. "Don't mind messing with them. Torture's a bit … common, for my taste is all."

"Something your minions do for you?" she said, half-joking.

"Exactly." Draco studiously kept his voice flat and uncaring. The truth was that he felt ill inside. After two months of training, he had begun to think Granger wasn't such a bad sort. For a Gryff, anyway. He had managed to sneak away to the infirmary one night, where he had found her physically unharmed but silent and shaking. The sight upset him so visibly that Weasley hadn't even tried to make him leave. Draco had tried to speak with Snape about it, but the Potions Master had deliberately blown him off, calling it the price of resistance.

Nonsense, in Draco's opinion. But now, here, with Mel, was not exactly the time for Draco's real opinion. He didn't trust her that much yet. So he gritted his mental teeth and kept his feelings inside.

"I just don't get it," Draco heard himself say, trying to focus on the feel of her hand in his. He was starting to really like her, and she kissed like a damn demon. "I mean, terrorizing people inside Hogwarts is fun, but wouldn't you think someone like the Dark Lord would have better things to do?"

"I dunno," Mel said with a shrug. "Don't much care, either. See, way I figure it, he'll win or he won't. People like me will get caught in the middle, and I'll do my best to get through it. It's up to Dumbledore an' the Ministry how far he really gets."

"You really think you can stay out of it?" He was incredulous, even though he knew many wizards felt the same way. How could people be so foolish? There was no neutral, see-who-wins position in this war. Voldemort wouldn't allow it. He was a worship-me-or-die-screaming sort. Mel seemed smarter than to believe she could be safe without taking sides.

"A'course not. But I'm just a kid, Draco," she said seriously, snuggling back up to him. "What can I do? I can't protect myself against that."

She moved to snuggle back up to him, and the revelation burst into his mind with a flash.

"Is that what this is about?" He shouted, dropping her hand and jumping to his feet. "Hedging your bets with a Slytherin Prince? Figure I'm in good with Slytherin, I can keep my girl safe from the Dark Lord?"

"Can't you?" His nostrils flared, and she started to giggle. "Relax, Malfoy. I'm havin' you on, you dolt." She reached out and took his stiff hand. "Truth is, I find you kinda fascinating. You're pretty yummy to look at," she paused and brought his fingertip to her mouth, "not to mention how you taste. That, plus you savin' my life with Nott, an' you really think I'm in this for protection? I'm a Gryff. I could go to Harry if I needed to. Or Dumbledore. And I will, if I have to."

She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her lips went back to his neck.

"You aren't what you seem, Draco Malfoy. I don't think you're all skeletons an' darkness like you play at. You're complicated. And I like that in a boy. That's as far as it goes. D'you believe me?"

_That damn smell again_, Draco thought, inhaling as he leaned in. _Does it to me every time._

"Aren't they so cute?" Dawn whispered in the door of the roof stairwell. "You could just die."

"Malfoy might, if it gets out he's dating the Gryffindor Quidditch captain," Neville whispered back. The sight of Draco and Mel snogging was shocking, but he wouldn't say anything to anyone. It wasn't really his business who she wanted to snog, even if it was Draco Malfoy.

"Really?" Neville nodded. "Damn. Must be good kissage. Plus, they stole our spot."

Neville restrained a smile, thinking of the potential meaning of Dawn's words. Not that the two of them were looking for a place to snog, but the way she said it made his neck color slightly.

She didn't seem to notice. "Where else could we go?"

"Quidditch pitch, maybe?" He shrugged. "Worth a try."

The two of them made their way down to the Quidditch pitch, moving slowly so as not to attract the attention of the people on patrol. The night was chilly, but they were bundled up in winter robes over sweatpants and sweatshirts, so it didn't really affect them.

When they got to the field, the robes came off and they took positions opposite each other, five feet apart.

"You sure about this?" Neville asked again, knowing the answer from his first fifty tries to talk her out of it.

"Yup. Stop trying to be all dissuadey, Nev. I took a thump on the head, not a knife to the stomach. I'm good to go."

He sighed and nodded. "Long as you're sure."

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied impatiently. "I'm sure I'm gonna kick your butt all over this field, too."

They took fighting stances, Neville's feet closer and his hands lower than Dawn's. He let her make the first move and she did, wading in with a double-jab combination that he blocked easily. He tried a leg sweep that she hopped over, and for the next fifteen minutes they were off and sparring. Dawn was good, her style much more mobile than her sister because she lacked Buffy's raw power. She was more aggressive than Neville as well; he preferred to wait and let his opponents make their mistakes before he exposed himself. Neville quickly grasped that he was stronger and his technique was better, but Dawn was still quick enough to make things interesting. By the time they were done, they were both sweating profusely and smiling.

"You're way good," Dawn said admiringly. "How long have you been training?"

"A bit more than a year. You?"

"Same."

"Your sister must be somethin'. I remember last year, when she kicked You-Know-Who's hand. Bloody fantastic."

"The Slayer thing helps. Grey's not so bad either. He took Faith to school when we got here."

"Yeah, he'd be scary if he had the kind of speed all the time."

Dawn pulled a towel from her bag and wiped the sweat from her face. Neville did the same and she smiled when she saw the lion on his towel. "Tara did that, right?"

"Uh huh."

"She made me a sweater with a key on it. You can so tell it's her work."

"A key?"

"Long story," she said, clearly not wanting to discuss it. He let it drop.

"So you're okay? No lingering wooziness or anythin'?"

"Uh uh. Dandy." She smiled. "Thanks for doing this. None of the adults would let me yet."

"You just protect me from your sister an' we'll be square." At the mention of Buffy, her face dropped into a frown. "Dawn? Did I put my foot in it somehow?"

She shrugged and flopped onto the grass, her hands resting on her bent knees. "Not you. Just … worried about Buffy, you know? Something bad's after her. I've never seen her like she was the other day." Dawn had gone home for a quick visit through the floo, and Buffy's wan condition was frightening to her younger sister.

"Spike's the one who can save her, yeah?"

"Yeah. That's what Angel told me."

"Would you want to be the thing standin' between Spike and Buffy?" Neville asked seriously.

"Okay, not so much," she said with a slight grin. "He trained you, right? That's how you know him?"

"Partly. Grey did a lot of it while Spike was off, but yeah, he was a part of it. Speakin' of," Neville said, hoping to get Dawn's mind back on to a more pleasant topic, "what d'you do at six in the morning?"

"Umm … mostly I sleep." She looked puzzled.

"Grey an' I train in the mornings now. If you can get up, you should join us. I know he'd help you, an' with everythin' that's going on …" Neville let it hang, hoping he had kept the eagerness from his voice. Grey had given him a knowing smile when Neville had made the suggestion, and he had been nervous then, but after sparring with her, he felt surprisingly calm as he awaited her reply.

"Sure. Why not? I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do than hang out with you everyday anyway."

She said it off-handedly, and he knew she didn't really mean anything by it, but Neville couldn't keep a triumphant smile off of his face.

"Did you ever think you'd see that outta Neville?" Harry asked. He and Ginny had watched Neville and Dawn sparring from the hill overlooking the Quidditch pitch. Neither of the combatants had noticed them huddled together on the grass, the invisibility cloak draped over them like a blanket.

"Uh uh," she answered, her words muffled by the heavy fabric of his robes. His arm held her snugly against him while her fingers splayed across his chest. "He's good, though."

He nodded, and they lapsed into silence. Harry had no idea how to approach the conversation they needed to have, and he figured Ginny didn't either. After several days of rest she seemed ready for it, but he didn't know how to begin. They had been laying on the hill in uncomfortable silence for almost thirty minutes.

"Gin?"

"Yeah?"

"I … I'm sorry I let you get hurt." _What the hell_, he figured, _I'll just blurt it out._

In an instant she exited his embrace and sat up straight.

"Are you unhinged?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't let me get hurt, you berk!" She was shouting at him in a whisper. "I followed you cos I was worried. I made a choice an' it went badly. You aren't there to protect me from me. Bloody hell, Harry, I'm a person just as you are."

He sat up, bringing his eyes level with hers and inspecting her carefully.

"I'm not some fragile little bird, Harry. I've had a knife at my throat. I've nearly been eaten by a giant snake, for heaven sakes. I'm not runnin' about screamin' with joy after what happened, I'll grant you that, but I'm not broken, either. This is why I'm so pissed about you keepin' secrets from me. I don't need your coddlin', an' if that's how you're gonna keep treatin' me, we're through."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Gin, I don't coddle you. Honest. I haven't forgotten any of it. You think I want you involved in that kind of thing? I don't care how much you can handle it, an' I know you can. I still want you out of it."

"You don't get to choose that for me, Harry!" Her cheeks flushed red. "I'm not lettin' you an' my idiot brother go off an' fight without me. I won't do it."

He nodded, resigned. What else could he do?

"Now, about the lyin', that's somethin' we need to work out here and now. What's goin' on with you three? You can do things I know you didn't learn in class or on your own. I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were. There's obviously a bit more going on than we've said," he admitted, "but I can't tell you, Gin. Not that I don't want to – I do. More than you can imagine. But I can't. You think I'm doin' it because I think it's best, but I'm not. I have no choice."

The implication was clear enough to her: Dumbledore had given him strict instructions.

"Listen, Gin," he said, taking her hands in his, "if it were up to me, I'd tell all in a second. Jus' so I could talk about it, if nothing else," he admitted. "I can't. It's for your own safety. Our enemies have ears everywhere – one slip, an' we're in serious trouble."

She could, strangely enough, hear Professor Giles in Harry's voice.

"It can't be …"

He cut her off abruptly. "It is, Gin. It's that dangerous these days. Even Ron an' Hermione don't know all of it. I almost think no one does, 'cept Dumbledore."

She didn't care. "I'm in this, Harry. You might not want me to be, Dumbledore might not want me to be, but I am. My brother's in it. My boyfriend's in it. An' even if you weren't, that bastard made me hurt." Her brown eyes flashed with anger. "I'm in this."

Harry didn't know what to say. All of them, even Dumbledore – they all underestimated Ginny. She had strength where most people didn't even know they needed it. _She's like me_, he realized, understanding suddenly why he was so drawn to her. That she could go through an ordeal like this and come out not only intact, but looking for a turn at the man who hurt her …

"You're bloody amazing," he whispered. Her eyes went wide, and he pulled her in for a kiss that left her breathless.

"Oy!" Ron shouted, moving away from the window. "I don't need to see that, Harry." Then he remembered himself, and turned back to the common room. "Sorry, 'Mione, I didn't mean to disturb you."

She shrugged non-committally. It was all she seemed to do since the attack: act like nothing really mattered, good or bad. Ron felt like he was waiting for Christmas morning, except instead of presents, Hermione would explode into tears.

Or disappear altogether.

He didn't know how to handle her. None of them did, not even Ginny. Hermione seemed to be somewhere else entirely. Today had been her first day back in class, and she had not spoken once. Hermione not raising her hand once! He couldn't believe it.

"Alright, 'Mione?" Ron asked for the hundredth time.

"Fine, Ron. Really. You should be in bed, though," she added listlessly.

"An' you shouldn't?"

She shrugged again. "Can't sleep."

Actually, she was desperately tired. Every time she drifted off, though, she heard that oily laugh and the pain would rip through her body again. She couldn't bear that right now. She knew Ron and the others thought she was completely lost, that she had somehow disappeared when that bastard Grindelwald had hurt her. She would have screamed out her frustration if she could have, but she hadn't the energy. Her anger – at Grindelwald, at herself, at Harry and Ron – remained trapped inside her. She could feel it coming to a rolling boil, but she couldn't do anything to release the pressure.

All she really wanted was to be alone when it blew.

"Ya could stay with me … I don't mean in a, y'know, naughty way," he added quickly, embarrassed. "Just in a comfort way."

"We'd get in trouble."

"Can't say I rightly give a damn about that." She didn't correct his swear, and it made him even more nervous. She just shook her head and stared at the floor. "'Mione, please, jus' tell me what I can do?"

"You can't do anything! Why must you keep badgering me, Ron? Don't you think if you could do something I would've accepted one of your endless offers to help? I just want to be alone! Go to sleep. Go out and yell at Harry for being with Ginny, or go yell at Neville for sparring on the pitch. Go anywhere. Just leave me alone!"

She had come up out of her chair to scream at him, her face completely red, her brown hair bouncing everywhere, her arms flailing about wildly. Her voice echoed in the silent common room and rang in both their ears.

His eyes went wide, and she saw them fill with tears. He didn't cry, though. Not in front of her. He just nodded and made his slow way back to the boys' dormitory.

Disgusted with herself, she sank back into one of the squashy armchairs and lit a fire in the main fireplace. She had blown her stack at him. She knew she would, but though she hadn't wanted to, she secretly hoped it would make her feel better. It hadn't. Her insides still felt ready to explode.

"Didn't help much, did it?" The matter-of-fact voice came from one of the darkened corners. She whirled around, wand at the ready. Grey stepped out and waved for her to put it away.

"No," she said bitterly, slouching back into the chair.

He walked quietly over and sat in the chair across from her.

"It was a good try, though. I mean, if anything's going to blow the lid off, that rant would do it." She stared at the fire. "I'm not going to leave you alone, so don't ask."

"I don't care."

"Well, your actions kind of put the lie to that, Hermione."

She shrugged.

"Ah. The shrug. It's a fantastic rhetorical device, isn't it? Let's you say nothing, not care, and answer all at once."

She shrugged again. He couldn't help but smile for a second. Then he turned somber again.

"Dumbledore sent me to speak with you. Do you know why?"

"Because you've been tortured before, so you understand what I'm going through." The sentence dripped with contempt.

"Yeah. Something like that. What Dumbledore doesn't know, though, is that I can't fix your problem. Nobody can."

"No?" She asked quickly. Too quickly. He caught the glimmer of fear in her eyes and almost smiled again. She was going to be fine; she wanted to get better, and that was really all it took. That, and time.

"No. There's no formula for it, no spell that will make it go away. For a long time you won't want to talk with anyone, or do anything, or go anywhere. When you're with people, out and about, you'll just want to sit in the dark alone, and when you're sitting in the dark alone, you'll wish you had someone to yell at and the energy to go find them. That's how you feel, isn't it?"

Her head moved up and down a fraction of an inch. It wasn't much, but it was a nod.

"It's perfectly natural. Probably healthy, even. But it sucks. I won't tell you it doesn't. I spent a month alone in the dark after … mine. I didn't get better until I came here and met Willow. You're lucky – you have Ron already. The only thing I can say is don't hide behind a fake happy face. Be sad. Be upset. Don't lie about it. He won't abandon you because you aren't cheerful."

"I shouldn't have yelled at him."

Now it was Grey's turn to shrug. "Maybe not. But I guarantee an apology and a kiss on the cheek will fix it. And Hermione?"

"Yes?" She looked up hopefully.

"I've heard that it helps if you find the guy who did it and kick his ass."

Then Hermione did something she hadn't done since Halloween.

She smiled.

"S-so Grey went to find Hermione?" Tara asked.

"Uh huh. He'll sort her out. Now no excuses. Hurry up." Jess waved her spoon at Tara's bowl.

The blonde witch tentatively dipped her spoon into the dish and came up with a sliver of red ice cream. When she tasted it, her face lit up in a smile and she dug into it with gusto.

"Miss Tara is pleased?" Winky asked hopefully.

Tara nodded. "It's really good, Winky. Thank you."

"Winky is trying new flavors all the time, Miss Tara. Some are bad, but Winky is liking the Strawberry Peppermint very much."

"Good stuff, Winks," Jess said, taking a bite of her own ice cream. Winky watched the two witches eat in silence for several minutes before being satisfied that they enjoyed the ice cream. Once she was, she left to finish washing the dishes from supper. "Dobby says she's kicked her butterbeer habit. You can tell, too – the ice cream's really improved."

"T-totally," Tara said, her teeth chattering from the cold ice cream rather than her stutter.

"So how're you doin', Blondie? After Sunnydale?"

"I'm a little freaked out still," Tara admitted. "It was way more power than I can handle, and it sort of all came out in a rush."

"I know the feelin'."

"I was in control the whole time. N-not that you wouldn't be," she hurriedly added, not wanting to offend the Irish girl.

"Bah. Not if I was drawin' the power you were, girl. I'd be all black-eyed an' ragin' an' you know it. Did you have this much power on the Hellmouth?" Jess took another bite of ice cream, her green eyes locked on Tara.

"No. Not ever, not even when I would work with Willow on-on things that needed big power. Sometimes, I felt l-like her insect reflection." _Not that dumb joke again_, Tara thought as soon as she said it. But to her delight, Jess started to laugh.

"Insect reflection. I like that. You certainly aren't that anymore, don't you know." She paused, thinking about the fight in Sunnydale. "Gotta admire Spike – boy doesn't screw around. Wouldn't wanna be him, though, havin' to face that angel down again. That boy had power."

Tara nodded her agreement. "When he punched the barrier? Ow."

Jess smiled. "Totally ow."

"But really, it's kind of scary how much magic I pumped into that spell."

"How'd you do it?"

"I don't know. I just pulled and it was just there. Why did you ask about the Hellmouth?"

"I was jus' thinkin' about the feel of the magic there. It's sorta dark and heavy in Sunnydale, not at all like the magic at Hogwarts."

"I know what y-you mean," Tara said. "You can feel the goodness in the magic here."

"Uh huh. Usedta piss me off, the times I was here an' all evil-like. I'm wonderin' if that might account for your new power."

"How?" Tara took another bite of ice cream. "Magic's j-just magic, right? I mean, you can feel the emotional intent in it sometimes – me, not so much, but you can, and I kn-know Willow can – but the magic is the same."

Jess' spoon stalled halfway to her mouth. "What if it's not? This place used ta be safe. When I was here … when my parents were here … it was always the safest place on Earth, y'know? The only place safe from Voldemort. Or it was before the damn defenses took a holiday. Could that be about the magic itself?"

"That w-would mean that it was here, this place, that was important to Hogwarts, not just Dumbledore," Tara continued, following her train of thought.

"Right. An' if Hogwarts is in this spot for a reason, an' Voldemort knows why …"

"… and we could find an equally evil type place, we could maybe f-figure out where he's hiding," Tara finished. Jess smiled at her and she wanted to melt right there. The girl really was beautiful. "Th-that … sounds like a longshot."

"Better a longshot than no shot, right?"

"Should've had some ice cream," Willow muttered.

She very much did not want to turn the wrought iron knob in front of her, nor did she have any great desire to haul open the thick stone door that had appeared in the wall after her third circuit of the hall.

She really, really didn't want to talk with the occupant of the Room of Requirement either. Unfortunately she wanted to talk to her more than she wanted to be the kind of person who did not take responsibility for her actions.

With a hefty sigh, she pulled the door open and stepped through.

A fully functional infirmary station waited inside. The room's only occupant reclined on her bed, watching through slitted eyes as Willow entered.

"Hi, Amy," Willow said somberly.

"You." The venom in Amy's voice reminded Willow of Amy's mother Catherine. "Here to gloat?"

"N-no, not so much. Actually," Willow said, taking the chair next to the bed, "I'm … kinda here to apologize."

There it was. She hadn't known how she would say it – she didn't know how anyone could. What the right way would be. So she just dropped it right out there and waited for Amy to scream at her.

Amy laughed.

She started slowly at first, just a little chuckle, then quickly moved on to gut-wrenching peals of laughter, her one remaining arm clutching her chest as she struggled to laugh and inhale at the same time.

Willow watched from beside her, her breath coming quickly and her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You're … you're here … to apologize?" Amy gasped out. "I love it. I love it. You're one of a kind, Willow. Apologize." Her laughter halted instantly, and she turned her black eyes on Willow. "You ripped my arm off." Amy twisted at the waist, showing Willow the reddened bandages where her left arm had been. "Oh, apology very much not accepted. I'm going to kill you. You can stick your apology up your ass."

"Not in here you're not," Willow pointed out. The Room had become a magic-free jail cell for Amy, a place to hold her until Dumbledore figured out what to do.

"You think I'll be stuck in here for much longer? We both know I won't. And the first thing I'm gonna do when I get out is sign up for some dark magic classes with Lord Voldemort. I'd bust Ethan out of the dungeon if it weren't so much work."

"He hasn't been working too hard to get you out, Amy." This conversation was rapidly escaping Willow's control. She had come in here to apologize for her own sake, not Amy's, but the girl's aggressiveness was starting to worry her.

"Well, no, but I'm used to it. I mean, you worked awful hard to make me not a rat, didn't you?"

Ashamed, Willow looked away.

"Yeah, that's right, don't look at me. I know who you are, Willow. I've known it since we were in high school. You have a great act going: sweet, innocent Willow. Everybody's friend. Nicest girl you'll ever meet. But we know the truth, don't we?"

"Don't," Willow said meekly. She still couldn't look at Amy.

"Oh, I think I've earned it. See, we both know that really, you're a weak little bitch who gets what she wants because everything comes so easy for her. Like me – your girlfriend bailed on you for doing whatever you wanted. Messing with her memory, right? To make her the way you wanted? Taking the easy way out? And when she was gone, then it's a good time to fix Amy being a rat," she spat angrily. "Oh, I'll just conjure myself up a little friend. I'm just glad you weren't missing the sex yet. Who knows what you would've cast on me for that?"

"I wouldn't've … I mean …"

"Oh no?" Willow turned just enough to see Amy's raised eyebrow. "We both know you would have. And now I bet you're still looking for the easy way out. Let me guess: you swore off magic altogether. Why fight through the control problems? That's too hard. I'll just run away."

That did it. In the blink of an eye, Willow went from meek to furious.

"Shut. Up. You don't know anything." She burst out of the chair, glaring at Amy from three feet away, her eyes flickering black. "You're just jealous because I have power and you want it. Go ahead. Go to Voldemort. Come back all dark magicy and evil."

Willow leaned down very close to Amy's face, so close that the injured girl could smell the cinnamon on Willow's skin.

"I'll be ready, and I'll kick your butt so far back in time, you'll have both arms and a mother again. And as for the whole Amy-the-magic-sexbot idea? You wish."

With that, she turned and left, and Willow was very proud that she didn't start shaking until the door slammed shut.


	47. Angel

"Buffy? A word?"

Buffy looked up; Principal Wood was standing in the doorway to his office, a look of concern on his face. She nodded and wordlessly followed him inside. He shut the door behind them and they took seats on opposite sides of his desk.

He ran a hand over his smooth head and looked into her eyes. "I wanted to ask, and if I'm out of line say so, but … is everything alright? Everything at home? You seem a little distracted the last few weeks."

"Did I … is there something specific? Because I really think this year's going better than last," she said nervously, "I mean with me being here on time and doing the counselor thing, you know, actually giving them advice and stuff … did I mention I've been on time more?"

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Don't worry, Buffy. This isn't one of those 'shape up or I'll fire you' talks. Your work's going just fine."

"Oh. Good. That's good."

"I'm just asking because you seem … distracted these last few weeks."

Buffy shrugged. "Really, everything's fine. I'm fine. Dawn's fine. It's a fine, fine day really."

"Dawn's fine?"

"She looked good when I saw her last weekend." Too late, Buffy realized her mistake.

Wood raised his eyebrows. "She came home for the weekend? I thought …"

"No, I mean, came home? Of course not. She's in England. It's not like she could just hop in the fireplace and come home for the weekend. She … it was …

"Hop in the fireplace?" He asked incredulously at the same time she blurted out "video phone."

"Video phone?"

"Web … video … conference … We talked over the Internet," Buffy squeezed out finally, feeling inordinately stupid. "You know, with the webcam and chatting and stuff?" She added hopefully.

"Uh huh." He didn't appear to have bought it, but he let it go. "And she's okay? She likes boarding school in England?"

"Yeah, she does. She complains about the robe … aerobics. They make her do aerobics and she hates it. But otherwise, yeah, it's good."

"Good," he said, nodding. "So what is it, then, Buffy? What's going on with you? If it's personal, obviously it's none of my business, but I'd like to help, if I could." Now Wood seemed flustered. "Maybe …"

"It's personal, yeah, and …"

"Over dinner tomorrow night?"

".I don't think … dinner? Over dinner?" Her eyes narrowed. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"I was, but you're obviously seeing someone or …"

"Seeing? No, there's no seeing, but I'm sorta …" she paused, thinking of Spike. "Principal Wood," she said.

"Robin."

"Robin … it's not that you're not a nice guy or attractive, I just … can't. Not right now."

He pursed his lips and nodded. She felt bad for disappointing him, but she didn't have much choice. "I understand."

"I really doubt it," she muttered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. Look, it's nothing personal. I'm sure you're a great guy, really, I've just got a lot going on."

"Fair enough." He smiled, his even, white teeth hiding his disappointment poorly. "Friends, then?"

"Friends." She smiled back, then got up and left the room.

When she was gone, he reached into the drawer and pulled out a wooden cross. The bottom had been sharpened to a razor point.

"Good thing I have a way to work out my disappointment," he said, his eyes on the door.

Buffy almost went home after work, but she didn't really want to sit around an empty house. Fred and George wouldn't be home until later. Anya and Xander weren't coming over for dinner tonight, either, so the house would have been very still. She hated that. It made her miss her mother and Dawn acutely.

At the Espresso Pump, she ordered a mocha with two extra shots of espresso. Caffeine had not helped to shake her doldrums so far, but she kept hope alive.

The traumatic lethargy that attacked her at Hogwarts had mostly abated, but not entirely. Giles had given her express instructions not to leave Sunnydale until they figured out what was wrong. She didn't really care much about fixing it, which, she knew, was a symptom of whatever was wrong with her. She just never seemed to have the energy to do anything anymore.

"Is this seat taken?" The smooth voice interrupted her revelry.

"Huh? Well, I …" She looked up and saw the speaker. Stunned, she shook her head. Her mind felt syrupy all of a sudden. "It's … it's you."

"Yes, I suppose it is." The blonde man, this time unaccompanied by cultists, slid into the seat opposite her. He carried one of the Espresso Pump's few ceramic mugs. "The coffee here is quite good, don't you think?"

"You …" She looked around, trying to react defensively and strangely unable to. In fact, she felt no fear at all, which she knew was wrong but couldn't stop. "You're here having coffee?"

"Having coffee with you, if that's alright."

"Where's the Waco gang?"

"Waco gang?"

"Your cult guys."

"They don't handle caffeine very well, I'm afraid."

In spite of herself, Buffy smiled. She felt totally out of control of her own reactions to this man, and her head refused to clear.

"Why are you here?"

"Believe it or not," he said, glancing around furtively, "I am here because I need your help."

"Hmm … I choose not."

He shrugged. "Be that as it may, will you hear me out?"

She found herself nodding without conscious thought.

"First, let me apologize for my behavior. The attacks on your home were neither my idea nor under my control, but were necessary to maintain what little freedom I have."

"Uh huh. You poisoned me. You attacked my house. Twice. And now every time I go to the mall, everybody at those little stands in the aisle looks at me funny. But it's okay because you had to do it, and you're sorry."

She had the strong urge to run away, but she couldn't seem to get out of her chair. Instead, she took a sip of her mocha.

"You can't leave," he said, seeing her muscles tense. "The spell is complex and very difficult to break."

"Undo it. Let me go."

"Ah, if only I could. I did not cast it, however, and so I can not free you from it," he lied. "Your freedom will be restored once I depart, which will be soon – I haven't much time. Will you hear me out?"  
"Do I have a choice?"

"No, I suppose not." He offered a sympathetic grin, and she realized again that he was stunningly attractive. "As I said, I need your help. Do you know what I am?"

"I'm thinking Libra, but we just met, so I'm not sure."

He chuckled. "No. Gemini, actually, but that's neither here nor there. I am an angel."

"I have so heard that one before."

"Not Angel, my dear. An angel. As in, I believe you might say, wings and a harp and a pair of birkenstocks?"

She instinctively looked down. His shoes were black Kennth Coles, partially obscured by his khaki pants.

"There are no actual Birkenstocks, Buffy."

"So does that mean all angels have your good taste in shoes?"

"Some," he said. The more they conversed, the more he admired her. She was under a spell and had to be frightened, but still she bantered as if they were two people just having coffee. "May I continue?"

"Go ahead. Whatever gets me out faster."

He nodded. "Do you recall the furry brown creature which accompanied me to your home?"

"Furby with wings? Yeah."

"It is a Shallebite, and I am its captive. It has bound me here, to this dimension and to the Hellmouth, to keep me from interfering with its master's plans."

"And its master is …"

"Not worthy of your concern. A demon in another dimension."

She wanted to ask more, but something forced her to let it drop. "So you're in, what, angel jail?"

"I am a prisoner of war. I must find a way to free myself before this thing, this Shallebite, completes its plan."

"This is all very interesting, but what does it have to do with me?"

"I manipulated it to bring me here. I told it of the existence and power of the Key, so that it would come here and try to seize the Key."

"Hence the attacks."

"Yes."

"And putting my sister in the line of something that can corral an angel is endearing me to helping you how?"

"Your sister is safe, Buffy. It cannot use the Key without my help, and I will not do so. I brought it here because you are … well, a legendary warrior for the light."

"I wield a mean bulb, it's true."

He smiled. "I need your help, Buffy. I must be free of this Shallebite or my entire dimension will be imperiled. If my dimension falls, so do the Powers That Be."

"That could be bad," Buffy said. Then she frowned. "But why am I all bound up in the mojo? Why force me to stay here or near you?"

"You sent the Key away. Now you cannot go to protect it. It does not matter, however."

"What? It absolutely matters. You said …"

"The Shallebite cannot be defeated in combat, as I will protect it. My powers on this plane are nearly unlimited. Do I not seem different to you now than I did at our other encounters?"

"Yeah, what's that about?"

"Because when I am near it, I am in its thrall. As you are bound to me, I am bound to it."

"Oookay… so what does that have to do with …"

"I can only be freed here, at the Hellmouth. Now listen carefully. I only have seconds left." He leaned over and grasped her hands; the touch sent an electric thrill through her body, as if he were touching her somewhere much more intimate. "You cannot tell anyone. Anyone who knows what I am will be at risk. I will do my best to meet with you in secret, but until then, you must not leave the Hellmouth unguarded. Not for a moment."

She nodded.

"Thank you, Buffy." Their eyes met and held each other. She though she could feel his mind wrapping around hers. The feeling was both eerie and comforting at the same time. "You will never know how many lives freeing me will change."

She nodded dully. Then she blinked and he was gone.

On the street, Robin Wood watched the angel vanish. He had heard every word, and while he didn't understand half of what was said, the look of confusion on Buffy's face chilled him to the bone.

"Did she believe it Master was it believed?" Recks asked as they watched Buffy collect her things and depart the Espresso Pump. She appeared to be walking in a daze.

"Yes, Recks, she believed it." They were invisible, so Recks could not see his Master's triumphant smile. "That's the thing about heroes, my friend – give them the chance to do the right thing and they won't look too hard at whether the thing needs to be done."

"Did you enjoy conversing Master it seemed like you enjoyed it?"

"I did. She is … unlike any being I have ever encountered," he said with admiration. The Slayer walked across the street with the grace of a jungle cat, and he enjoyed the view immensely. "Her fear fails to contain her sense of humor. I quite enjoy that. "

"What if she seeks the Watcher or the wizard?"

"She won't. She does not wish to endanger her friends. I have suggested that they would be in danger, and they are unable to protest being left out because of it. She will not enlist their aid until it is too late." He looked over at Recks; unlike his henchman, he could see through the invisibility, and he caught the flash of worry in the stance of his beak. "You fear the vampire, Recks?"

"I do Master I do I'm sorry but I do. He seeks the sword with the sword he could kill you."

"He is only a vampire, and the sword is well-hidden. He wastes his time anyway, but when he realizes what has come to pass, he will not find it easily. Any reference to the sword has been expunged from this dimension. And his time draws short. Fear not, Recks," he said joyfully, his buoyant mood spurring him to scratch Recks' fur affectionately, "we will be triumphant and free ourselves from the prison that we have been condemned to for so long."

Recks' beady eyes darkened at that prospect, but he made the appropriate noises of enthusiasm and ignored the growing fear in his gut.


	48. Flying Blind

"Alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded, closing the last clasp on his Quidditch robe. "Yeah. Seems a bit ridiculous, us doing this now."

"Tell me about it." Ron hiked his broom up onto his shoulder. "It's only Hufflepuff, though, so at least it won't be too rough."

"Don't say that too loud. Mel hears you an' you'll be flying extra laps for a week."

Ron nodded. "You see it out there today?"

"Soup."

"Gray soup. That spell on your glasses still work?"

"Good as ever. Ready?" Harry slung the Firebolt over his shoulder.

"Let's go then."

Together they made their way through the Good Lucks and Go Get 'Ems in the Gryffindor common room and down to the locker room for Mel's first official pre-game speech. The state of things worried Harry immediately. The entire team seemed on the verge of vomiting all over the locker room. Even Mel seemed a bit green.

"This ain't good," Ron said, feeling the first tingle of nervousness creep into his stomach. Harry nodded his agreement.

"Harry!" Mel said, rushing up to him. "Everybody's gone bloody bonkers. We need to do something to loosen 'em up."

"You've got a speech, right?"

"Uh huh," she said with a hurried nod.

Harry had never seen her looking so unglued in her Quidditch uniform. His own nerves flared but he stamped them down.

"Listen, Mel, relax. It's Hufflepuff. We'll take 'em. You played all last year. It'll be fine. Just get everyone together and tell them that. You've got to believe it, though, or they won't."

"You tell 'em, Harry."

"I …" Harry paused, trying to think of words to describe the vibe he had gotten from the team this year. "It's your team, Mel. They see me different – I don't know how to explain it. Me being calm won't make them calm. They just think I'm calm because I'm the Boy Who Lived, an' that's not what we need here."

Harry glanced around. All eyes were on the two of them now. The rest of the room had gone silent.

"Showtime," he whispered. He looked back at Ron for support, but his best friend looked extraordinarily pale. The bad feeling in Harry's stomach sent cold shocks up his spine and along the backs of his arms.

"Okay, Gryffindor, listen up," Mel said. Her voice came out with authority, but at the end of the sentence she gulped loudly, unnerved by her position. Harry could see the fear spread among the others. As she spoke, in words echoing Oliver and Angelina but in tone completely uninspiring, Harry silently prayed he could find the Snitch quickly.

"Is he still staring?" Willow whispered, leaning the left side of her head above Tara's right ear. Under the blanket, she felt Tara shrug. Willow tried to lean around and get a look at Snape, who had been eyeing Tara oddly all morning. The two of them and Jess were huddled under a massive red and gold blanket. They took up most of a row in the teacher's box, with Grey, Remus Lupin and Hagrid filling it out.

Willow's clumsiness got the best of her. She slipped a bit as she leaned over and the frantic scramble to keep her from tumbling out of the row ended with her draped across Tara with her hands in a few naughty places and the other two witches tangled in the blanket.

"Oh! Sorry! Sorry," she said again, disentangling herself from Tara's lap. A twinge of guilt passed through her at the same time she thought how comfy Tara's lap was.

"You three cozy enough in there?" Grey asked pointedly.

"Why? Jealous?" Willow smirked, trying to hide her embarrassment. Grey narrowed his eyes but didn't respond.

"He's right possessive, Willow. Best be careful," Jess said, her voice mocking.

"Oh, it's not the snuggling I object to," he said, affecting a fake leer, "it's the blanket."

Next to him, Remus shook his head. A quick vision of James, Lily and Sirius popped into his head, and he repressed a smile. It was good to see somebody on the campus still having a little fun. Good cheer had been in very short supply lately.

"You're welcome to join us," Tara said to Grey in a surprisingly husky voice. "It might be educational." She gave him her best film-noir-vixen smile.

Grey and Willow both turned pink. Jess guffawed. Hagrid, watching from the end of the row and, unable to hear most of the banter, could only lean in and look confused.

"You lot okay down there? Don't think I wanna here what yer sayin' ter one another, do I?"

"We're good. Plus, you really don't," Willow said, still pink but trying to play along. To Tara, she said: "I admit it, I'm a slut. I was with Grey this morning and now here I am all snug and blankety with two girls."

"This morning?" Jess said with raised eyebrows. Grey and Willow darkened from pink to red, and he shot Willow an embarrassed glance. "Way more than I need to hear, don't you know."

"Whose j-jealous now?" Tara asked playfully.

"Oh, like you're not," the dark-haired girl retorted. "Doin' penance an' savin' the world isn't quite the same without the victory snogs."

Lupin leaned around Grey and gave all four of them his Professor's glare.

"Not to stop this riveting digression, as I do so enjoy hearing about the sexual exploits of the Hogwarts staff, but could you four PLEASE stop talking so I can catch just a tiny bit of the match?"

The drizzle annoyed Harry more than it hindered him, and he actually enjoyed playing under such overcast skies. The clouds made for good contrast to spot the Snitch.

Today, however, they didn't seem to be any help, and if he didn't find the Snitch soon, Gryffindor was looking at the worst Quidditch upset in a long time.

His worst fears had been confirmed almost from the opening whistle. Eric Silver and Mike Gold, though they had begun to show coherence on the practice field, managed to blunder so badly that they had each managed to hit the other with a Bludger. Ron was faring no better. He had saved the first shot of the game easily, but after that he seemed to give up a goal for every one he saved. Many of them he could do nothing about; with no help from the Beaters, he was a sitting duck. One Hufflepuff chaser, third-year Laura Connolly, scored six goals in the first ten minutes, and the others weren't far behind. Gryffindor's Chasers were doing reasonably well, and in a normal match, they would be dead even or better with 70 points in the time that had elapsed.

Unfortunately, Hufflepuff already had 210.

The Gryffindor defense showed no signs of hardening. Harry watched with growing horror as Hufflepuff stole a pass from Ron to Seamus and swooped back in for another score. He looked over at Cho Chang flying parallel to him. She offered a brief look of sympathy, then replaced it quickly with a smirk of triumph. Like a shark, she could smell the blood in the water, and that realization made Harry's stomach churn. He tore his gaze away and went back to casting about for the Snitch.

"Cho!"

Harry and Cho both turned. Across the field, Connolly was waving madly at the Snitch dancing in front of her face. She couldn't reach out and grab it, but Cho took off like a shot and Connolly dropped into a steep dive to get out of the way. Harry reacted nearly as fast as Cho and his Firebolt was much faster than her Cleansweep. In a half-second he caught her. As he pulled ahead, he could hear the air rushing past his ears, dulling the roar of the crowd with its rumble. Everything seemed to fall away. All he had to do was get to the Snitch first and he could salvage a tie. A tie wasn't a win, but a tie and two wins would bring home the Quidditch cup as much as three wins would. This was it for Hufflepuff; he doubted they would last long against either Slytherin or Ravenclaw.

Standings were a matter for a different day, though. His entire being was focused on the Snitch, buzzing in a mad circle near the Gryffindor end. He barely heard Ron shout to the Beaters to try and block Cho, which, Harry knew, they would fail to do. One of the Hufflepuff Chasers came from nowhere to try and knock him off course, but he saw the broom in his peripheral vision and barrel-rolled perfectly to avoid him. The Chaser whizzed by with a rush of air, never touching him.

The Snitch suddenly broke from its circle as if it sensed Harry's approach and sped away from him. He didn't care. The Firebolt was faster than the Snitch, too, and he could feel practically the whole field watching as he closed on it. Cho was trailing off to his left, but she wouldn't reach it before he did.

His hand was a broom-length away from the Snitch when the Bludger slammed into his right eye and the world went dark.

The droan of conversation beat a pounding rhythm in his head. Harry lifted his palms to his ears to block it out, but the pain was impervious. Even when the voices stopped shouting his name and began whispering instead, the pain stayed.

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Ginny whispered above him. She put her hand to his elbow, then slid it slowly up his arm until she had her hand in his.

"Gin?" His voice came out harsh and raspy.

"Water – he needs water," Tara said to someone. Harry didn't know who fetched it, but he suddenly felt a mug at his lips.

"Here, hon. Sip this," Ginny said. Harry sipped some water, then gulped a bit more. "How's your head?"

"Feels like it got in the way of a Bludger." He cracked his eyes open, blinking away the gluey remnants of a poor sleep. Tara, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were at his bedside.

"It did, at that," Ron said, his voice filled with false cheer. His unhappiness was obvious on his face. "Alright, Harry?"

"Did we … what happened?" He knew the answer already, but he had to know.

"Cho caught the Snitch," Ron said, his voice heavy. "Hafta give her credit – bloody excellent flying. She caught the Snitch right after she caught you. Without her, you'd've taken a fifty-foot header into the pitch."

"We lost."

"We got thrashed, mate." Ron frowned. "Bad enough that we're a longshot for the Cup, even with two games to play."

Hermione wasn't speaking. She was staring at what Harry knew was the massive bruise on the side of his face. He could feel it throb as she watched him, then suddenly she put a hand to her mouth and rushed out of the room.

"'Mione …" Ron turned to stop her but he was way too late. "Bloody hell. Not again."

"Again?" Ginny asked.

"She …" Ron's shoulders sagged and he plopped heavily onto the bed next to Harry. "After Harry got hit she was cryin' and did a runner for the dorm. Wouldn't tell me why. S'been happening a lot lately. She won't ever say why."

"M-maybe she's scared," Tara offered, watching the three Gryffindors carefully. She had never seen them all so downcast at once. Even Harry, whose head probably hurt like the devil, seemed a little more beaten up than usual. "You guys have been through so much lately, and now Harry's h-hurt doing something you do all the time. It's a lot for anybody."

"But … 'Mione," Ron said, "she's always been so strong. She never gets all weepy. Well, not a lot, anyway," he amended, remembering Hermione's outburst before the troll attacked her in the bathroom. "I jus' don't know what to do. She won't talk ta me about anythin'."

Harry leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes. The others kept talking. Ginny and Tara offered Ron some advice and encouragement about talking to Hermione, but Harry tuned them out. He knew it wouldn't help. The pressure of keeping this war secret, mixed with the pain and humiliation that they all felt from Grindelwald's attack, was breaking them all down. Hermione was the first to let it affect her visibly, but they were all falling prey to it. Flying had always been his escape from it before now, but it had followed him up onto his broom earlier and cracked his concentration. His carelessness with the Bludger and his inability to get the prophecy out of his head went hand in hand.

A wave of guilt washed over him. The prophecy. Voldemort was his enemy. His enemy who had sent a crazy dead wizard to torment them. Hermione's problems were his fault. Worse, there was no way to undo it. Hermione might never recover. She might be hurt more in the next attack. Harry had no way of stopping that, no way of safeguarding her from it. He knew she would stand with him until the end.

What he didn't know was how soon that might be.

"Good evening, Tom."

Red eyes crackled with fury for a brief instant. Then the fury turned to warmth as Voldemort spun around to face the speaker. A robed arm extended and the two wizards gripped each other's hand."

"So you survived."

"I did, my friend, and in fine fashion. It seems I no longer need to eat or drink or even sleep."

"As I am aware." The grin left Voldemort's skull-like face and he squeezed Grindelwald's pale hand painfully. "It seems you no longer have any need for victory, either."

Grindelwald's eyes widened with pain.

"But, Tom, I…"

Voldemort lifted his free hand and Grindelwald flew backwards into the stone wall of the castle. Loose mortar puffed into a gray cloud around the reanimated wizard.

"I am Lord Voldemort now." A flick of his wand and Voldemort sent a blue bolt of electricity into Grindelwald's chest. The howl of pain brought a smile to the Dark Lord's face. "You are not my teacher anymore. You are a servant, created to do my will. Thus far, you have failed miserably. Need I emphasize that point further?"

Grindelwald coughed mortar dust from his lungs. The indignity of his position burned inside his chest. _I will kill you for this, Tom. And not slowly_, he thought. Instead of speaking it aloud, though, he shook his head and said "No, my lord" in his most submissive voice.

Voldemort nodded, a grim smile reappearing on his skull-like face. "I thought not. I have brought you back for a reason, and I thought it best that we establish who is the teacher and who is the principal straightaway." Voldemort offered his hand once again, helping Grindelwald to his feet. A scouring spell took care of the dust.

"What would you have me do … master?" Grindelwald spat out the last word.

The grim smile widened into a genuine grin.

"I have grand plans for you, Augustan. Grand plans." Voldemort pulled a scroll from beneath his robes and handed it to Grindelwald. The second wizard glanced at it, then began to read in earnest as Voldemort continued to speak. "I know you loathe following orders, old friend. And I realize your first assignment was quite beneath a man of your talents, whether you completed it or not. This is what I require from you."

"I did not kill the girls, it's true, but I injured them nonetheless. I don't believe they had been tortured before." Grindelwald looked up from the scroll, smiling evilly. "I do so love being there for the first time."

"Yes, I know you do."

"They will remember me for quite a while. Especially the brown-haired one, Granger I think it was. She was on the verge of breaking completely. It was delicious." His eyes went wide as he reached the middle of the scroll. "This is what you wish me to do?"

"Yes. If we are to live forever and rule the world, my friend, we will need another generation of servants at our beck and call, wouldn't you agree?"


	49. Bottoming Out

The brilliant December sun streamed through Willow's window. Behind his eyelids, Grey felt the warmth build and slowly transitioned from sleep to wake. The grogginess stayed with him even after he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His throat and mouth felt like they were filled with sand and his muscles ached from thrashing about uncomfortably in his sleep.

"Will," he rasped, sitting up and letting the sheets fall to his waist. "Come on, honey. Time to get up."

"Don' wanna," she mumbled into the pillow.

"School soon," he said. "You want the bathroom first?"

"Unh." Her head stayed in the pillow. Grey took that as a no.

When he finished showering and shaving, she was still lying facedown in their bed. Technically it was hers; his room had been repaired, but since he barely had any possessions left, he had been living with Willow. Occasionally he caught a disapproving look from Giles, but otherwise the arrangement seemed to be working fine.

Still feeling groggy, he shook her gently awake again.

"Sleepy," Willow muttered, rolling over and tangling the sheet around her naked waist. He smiled at the view.

"I know, but you have to get up. You have class in an hour."

"Grumble grumble," she said, pulling herself out of bed and throwing on a robe.

As she shuffled off to the bathroom, he watched her closely. Sleep had not done much to refresh her. She had dark bags under eyes. Even for the morning she looked terrible, worn down and exhausted from stress. Grey knew she wasn't the only one. Hogwarts seemed bathed in malaise lately, with everyone from Hagrid to Hermione to Professor McGonagall suffering from its effects.

Willow finished in the bathroom and threw on a plain black robe. As they walked down to breakfast, Grey thought about the malaise. He knew where it came from. He was feeling it himself, truthfully. Voldemort was gaining ground and everyone knew it. Instead of trying to stay a step ahead and stop him, Grey could feel everyone on their informally-assembled team waiting for the next shoe to drop. That was the worst place for them to be. Glancing over the faces at the Gryffindor and Staff tables, the fear was almost tangible. Even Dumbledore looked a bit more haggard than usual.

"Bit late this morning, don't you know," Jess commented as he and Willow took their normal chairs beside her and Tara.

Willow shrugged.

"Nothing naughty. Just extra sleep," Grey answered.

"I believe it. The whole o' Hogwarts seems a bit overtired, don't it?"

"Exams are coming," Tara pointed out.

"Could be. Feels different, though."

"It does," Grey agreed. "You've got the lesson tonight, right?"

"Uh huh." Jess put down her fork and turned to him. "Listen, Grey, I know you're not in charge or anythin' …"

"But?"

"See, it's just – combat magic isn't my specialty. I'm not good enough ta be takin' these lessons. They're too important. I was thinkin' we could ask your dad ta do it."

Grey thought about it and shook his head. "He wouldn't do it. He's too busy."

"I thought he was retired."

"He's retired from the Ministry, but he's hunting the Death Eaters full time. Let me think about it. I agree we need somebody else."

She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Somebody's gotta do something about the bad vibes in this place, too. S'like we're all runnin' scared, an' we'll never win that way."

He forked a piece of omelet into his mouth and nodded. Somebody definitely had to do something.

Grey and Jess stared at each other in silence, wordlessly considering and rejecting options for fixing the problem. They had worked and lived together long enough to have the discussion without words. The quiet staring went on for a bit longer than Willow was really comfortable with. She was about to comment on it when two massive silver owls flew into the dining hall. Unlike normal mail owls, who dropped their packages and swooped out, these two monstrous birds winged their way to the staff table, dropped slim envelopes in front of Grey and Jess, and hovered in the air in front of them. The bird in front of Grey also had a pouch tied to its leg.

"Oh my," Professor McGonagall exclaimed, surprise on her face. "Ministry owls at breakfast? That can't be good."

Snape grunted his agreement. The rest of the table watched as the two former aurors opened the envelopes and unfolded the letters.

Grey's letter was written on Ministry stationery.

_David,_

_ Amelia Bones requests your presence this afternoon at __3:00__. Please arrive on time and wear robes of some sort. If you have no robes, say so in your reply and I'll dredge some up for you. It is imperative that you appear dressed properly._

He had to chuckle. Even if the letter had been unsigned, which it wasn't, he would know the author anywhere from that passage. With the rest of the staff looking on, he continued to read.

_I suggest that you come via floo directly to my office. It will save time and embarrassing questions about your weaponry. The special powder required to gain entry is attached to the Ministry Owl delivering this letter._

_ It will be nice to see you. Don't be late._

_ Love, your mother._

The bottom of the letter bore her title and personal seal: two crossed swords underneath a storm cloud.

_ Lady Elizabeth Grey_

_ Deputy Head, Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic_

_ Special Assistant to the Minister for Security Matters_

_ Order of Merlin Second Class_

_ KOQC, IRWW, NCWS_

Grey looked at Jess, who seemed to be rereading the letter to make her astonishment abate.

"What's yours say?"

"Ministry at 3, dress robes, that sort of thing. Meeting with Bones. God only knows why. It's from your mum."

"Mine too."

"I can't believe she'd want me within a hundred miles of the Ministry."

"Maybe your house arrest is over?"

"Six months seems like a light sentence."

He shrugged. "We're at war."

"Still, Fudge'd never give me somethin' that light. So," she said, hoping to deflect the discussion from her misdeeds, "d'you even own robes?"

He shook his head. "I did. They got toasted when … with everything else."

"Bummer. What're you gonna do?"

"She wants me to write her back if I don't have any." He smiled wickedly.

"I know that look. We're gonna get yelled at, aren't we?"

Instead of answering, he kept smiling and leaned over to write his reply.

Grey knew he didn't have to leave until the afternoon. Instead of heading for classes as he had originally planned, he marched directly to Dumbledore's office.

"Come," Dumbledore said when he knocked. He entered to find Dumbledore elbow deep in paperwork and staring grimly at his quill. "Grey! Thank Merlin!"

"Uh, Professor?"

"Anything to end the drudgery. Anything!"

"I'm guessing that much damage generates a lot of it," Grey said, taking a seat in front of the desk and not bothering to restrain his amusement. He had never seen Dumbledore involved in the minutiae of his job. Despite the obvious strain on the old wizard's face, it was a genuinely refreshing sight.

"You have no idea, my young friend. Requisition orders, spending reports, house elf work schedules … I fear that it's quite endless. But enough of that – lemon drop?"

He held out a crystal bowl from his desk. Grey took one and popped it into his mouth.

"Thank you."

"Now, what can I do for you? Something to do with those owls this morning?"

"Actually, no, sir. I couldn't say what that's about." He watched Dumbledore closely and saw the twinkle in his eye. Grey could tell that the headmaster knew, but he wasn't about to ask and spoil Dumbledore's fun. "I came to talk to you about … well, about morale among the troops."

The twinkle left Dumbledore's eye and the smile left his face. He nodded grimly. "It's quite low at the moment. The entire school is feeling it, I'm afraid."

"We need to do something about it, Professor. Everyone's waiting for the next attack – for the next death or maiming. That's not how we're going to win."

"No, it's not," Dumbledore agreed. "I had hoped that our minor victory over the Don might have done so, but it raised more questions than it answered."

"Yeah."

"What do you think we should do?"

Grey shrugged. "I don't know. The kids are training hard, but I'm worried about Hermione. She's not bouncing back at all. It's dragging the others down, except for Malfoy. He's the only one who seems even marginally unaffected, but that could be due to other factors." The faculty all knew about Malfoy's burgeoning relationship. "As for the rest of us … Willow's refusal to do magic is making her touchy. The rest of us are on edge, waiting for it to explode. Meanwhile, we're trying to get prepped for Australia, and I know that everyone is worried about Buffy. Add that to Spike and Faith staying in L.A. to do their research and promptly falling off the face of the earth … there's a lot to worry about."

Dumbledore was impressed. He hadn't realized Grey had been looking so much at the bigger picture. He had assumed the younger man had focused solely on Willow's problems. Clearly that was not the case. He said as much to Grey, who nodded.

"Yeah, well, the whole thing is making me nervous. We have so much going on and no one doing anything. It's combustible."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"Then perhaps we had best give everyone something to do, yes?"

"Why're you all giddy?"

"Talked to Dumbledore," Grey told Jess. "Thought of a plan to keep everyone from going bonkers. And I'm wearing snappy duds for a change. I think I have a right to be giddy."

The two of them stood in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. Jess wore midnight blue formal robes. Her long black hair fell loosely across her back. Grey had convinced Dumbledore to conjure some clothing from Angel in Los Angeles; he sported a shimmering shirt, nearly as dark a blue as Jess' robe, with black dress pants and shoes. His lightsaber hung from his belt, the sparkling sapphire ribbons setting off his shirt perfectly.

"Don't tell Willow I said so, but you do look hot." Jess' green eyes walked their way up and down his outfit. "Damn hot. Yum."

"You too. Did you maybe drop by Tara's before you came up here, just to," he shrugged, mimicking a motion he had seen from her a thousand times, "you know, say hi and see what's up?"

She punched him on the arm. Hard.

"Hey!"

"That's what you get for mockin' me. An' I don't care what your girlfriend thinks, I DON"T have those feelings for Tara."

Instead of sarcasm, which she expected, Grey's brow furrowed and he stared hard into her eyes.

"You don't? Really? Because if not, I think you need to make it clearer to Tara."

Jess sighed. Talk time. He always did this – caught her off guard by bringing up serious stuff at odd times. It always seemed to work, too, which pissed her off even more.

"Are we really talkin' about this?"

"We've got ten minutes to kill. But we don't have to. It's just … I mean, I thought we were going to be friends."

"We are."

"Are we? If we are, why do I hear about this from Will?"

"What d'you wanna hear, David? That I don't know how I feel about Tara? That the whole thing weirds me out? That half the time I want to run away from her and the other half I'm really curious what would happen if I just grabbed her and kissed her?"

"That's a start," he said with a smug smile.

She punched him on the arm again. Hard.

"What the hell?" _It's like being hit by a pitch. Don't rub it. Even if it hurts like a bitch_, he thought. The girl had a jab and, he remembered dolefully, he had been the one to teach it to her.

"Don't tease me about this. Seriously." The anger simmered in her eyes.

"Okay. I won't. But I'm here if you need to talk. I can handle the weirdness of it, if you're worried about that."

"You can?" He nodded. "I dunno if I can." She paused, considering the situation. "I dunno what's goin' on with me. I'm not gay."

"I'm pretty sure that if anyone knows that, it's me, hon. But you are … attracted to her?" _Willow__ is so, so much better qualified to handle this than me._

Jess nodded tentatively. "But, I mean, guys too. I do think you look hot, an' if we were datin' still I think we might've had to make use o' one of these squashy armchairs before we left. An' Willow's friend Xander is totally cute, too," she added defensively. "So it's not like I'm, y'know …"

"Gay?"

"Right."

Grey shrugged. "You could try it out. With Tara, I mean. And take pictures." She glared at him. "Only if it's convenient."

"I can't, though. What if I hurt her?"

"Problematic, I agree. Maybe if you didn't …"

"If you say one word about riding crops, one bloody word, I swear ta Merlin I'm gonna beat you down. That was one time and I had about twelve firewhiskeys and we are not EVER gonna mention it again!"

Grey did his best to contain it, and he was impressed that he didn't laugh. His grin, though, was really quite large.

"I had fun," he said with another shrug. The anger in her eyes went from simmer to smolder. "Okay, okay, I'll stop."

"While you're still alive, even. Good choice. You know what I meant."

His expression turned somber. "I do, and I understand. But the thing is, that's never gonna change. Not ever. I think your best shot is to explain how you feel to Tara, kiss her, and see what happens. Better that than never knowing."

"Was that your strategy with me, then?"

"Sort of. Mostly my strategy with you involved not letting the fear force me to throw up."

"Good work, then. And smart. Vomit would've been a turn off," she admitted.


End file.
